


Soldier Boy

by redfoxblackfox



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alfredo is a puppy, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Team as Family, how Alfredo joins the crew, one that is good with guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-02-22 04:04:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13158900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redfoxblackfox/pseuds/redfoxblackfox
Summary: Alfredo only had three main goals in life: earn money, keep his family safe, and to try and one up his parents and make it past the age of thirty.The Fakes? He couldn't be any further from that world. No doubt he'd love to be part of it but he knows it's never going to happen. There's just no way.Until one night, and one heist gone wrong, finds him in the middle of a gang war that he finds he has no choice but to get involved in.





	1. Chapter 1

Alfredo has never been much of a believer in fate. You got what you were given, that’s what he’s been raised to believe and so far in his short life, nothing has happened to go against or disprove that state of mind.

As far as Alfredo is concerned, there are three things in life that really matter. Family, loyalty, and money. His grandma would tell him nothing was more important than family. That everything he did in life had to be of some benefit for the family. She had taught him from a young age that one day he may be expected to take a fall for someone else, and that he should take that fall with honor and pride. That he should be selfless and be giving at all times, first and foremost - his life would be nothing without those of his family as well.

She said everything he had in life. The clothes on his back, the food in his belly, his bed and the roof he slept under, was all because of the family, and it was up to him to work hard every day of his life to pay them back and provide for the next generation. To do what his dead parents were now unable to.

His Uncle would tell him nothing was more important than loyalty. It kind of tied into the family side of things but loyalty could stretch boundaries. His Uncle would tell him stories of his father - his older brother - the most loyal and fearless man he ever knew. He said where they were now was largely down to him. The respect they still had from other crews was because they remembered his father. A straight up guy. Smart and loyal.

When he was only about five Alfredo once said it didn’t seem very smart to have been shot by a police. The swift backhand he earned was enough to make him shut up permanently on that front.

And his older brother, Denver, would tell him that money was what made the world go round. With money you could be anyone you wanted to be and no one could touch you or anyone you cared about. He’d tell Alfredo when they were really young - going out on the streets to see what cars were ripe for the taking - that money meant power, and the best way to survive in a place that could be as cruel as their city was to make as much of it as possible.

It depended on the day of the week, which one Alfredo felt more attached to at the time.

Either way, he has a place. And for this, he is grateful for. Every day he saw so much pain, so much suffering in the eyes of those who did not have what he has. Who had no family looking out for them, no one loyal enough to always stand by them. And those people definitely had no money.

Is he happy as a person? That is an entirely different question. Alfredo supposes it doesn’t matter. What he wanted… he wasn’t entitled to have a say - at least not yet. He’s a soldier, that’s the most important and defining quality about him. He would live and die for his family.

That morning is like any other. Alfredo awakes from his bed in his family’s basement by his grandma stomping her foot loudly on the kitchen floor above him. Groaning, he slips one leg out of bed, and then the other. It’s always cold in their basement, despite the generally hot climate outside, and getting up is never a pleasant affair.

He can’t afford to dally though, his grandma will have his head if he’s not out of the door by half eight. Time is money after all and money was still important even if it wasn’t always her number one priority. And seeing as Alfredo and his older brother were the men of the house, it was up to them to go out to work every day and bring home the earnings. His grandma had a job too, of course, she wasn’t one to just sit around. She worked as a hairdresser around twenty minutes away. A nice place, fancy, attracted high-end clients. Perfect for his grandma, Especially with their house being so close to the pawn shop. What could he say? It ran in the family, he supposed.

Clambering up the steep staircase on his hands and feet - like he had done ever since he was old enough to walk - Alfredo bounds into the kitchen, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms, walking over to where is grandma is washing up last nights dishes and kisses her on the cheek.

“You’re up late. Your brother was out ten minutes ago,” are the first words she said to him in her heavy Filipino accent, and though Alfredo knew there was no real anger or annoyance behind them, he can never help the little kick in the heart it would give him.

Denver. His older brother. And by far the more capable and adept at living this life of theirs. Alfredo is good, people always tell him that. But Alfredo had always been too soft, more keen on making friends out of their rivals than dealing with them. He hadn’t shot his first man until he was fourteen, a whole two years older than his brother had been. He’d cried as well, a lot, even though the man he’d had to shoot had been a rat for another crew. He’s shot at many rivals since then, hit a lot and killed a few, but it was never _easy_. No, taking a life, _any_ life, had never sat easy with him.

As he sat at their small breakfast table, he glances up to watch the TV. It was the morning news and shaky camera footage was showing a bank robbery heist that had taken place a week or so earlier - Montgomery Legion, a place where only the wealthiest stored their riches - robbed a small sum of 1.2 million dollars. There was no special prize for guessing who was responsible but there was no need for guessing in the first place, as the perpetrators mocked the cops from the roof of the bank, clad in tactical armour and face masks, before they leapt into a chopper and vanished into the skies above, the authorities unable to keep up or track them down. Yep, that sort of behaviour was typical of The Fakes.

Pausing in her washing, his grandma turns and points a spoon at the TV, nodding in approval. “You see there, Alfredo? That’s what real men look like,” she lectures. Oh Alfredo knew that alright. He’s basically been raised to worship The Fakes - placed in front of the TV when he was a little boy, witnessing the havoc they caused for the rich and corrupt. Told that was what he was to aspire to be.

Alfredo doesn’t know, he’s probably more suited with what he knows. The Fakes… they just seemed too out there, too _unreal,_ Robin Hood-esque characters come to life. Incredible and amazing to observe but not something he could, in reality, strive to be, no matter how much he'd like to.

Not much is known about them. Every so often a name or two is whispered in the winds throughout the city. Golden Boy, Mogar, The Vagabond; they come and go with the changing of the seasons. The most recent one Alfredo recalls, and quite frankly the most absurd, was Rimmy Tim. _I mean come on!_ Rimmy Tim? What kind of dumbass name was that?

Honestly, as much fun as being part of a crew like that sounded, Alfredo knows he'll never get out of his neighborhood, and the few corners that were his. But when his main job is to stand around all day and watch as addicts and dealers exchanged cash in hand, occasionally running from the cops or fighting with rival crews, he often finds his mind wondering to more exciting, but imagined, lands.

So he’s left daydreaming, while The Fakes continue with their grand heists, in their flashy cars with their insane arsenal of weapons and technology. Different lives, he supposes, never meant to mix.

He smiles to himself in recollection of all the news stories that have been the talk of his house over the years.

_But what a fucking life,_ he thinks in awe. _What a fucking life._

 

* * *

 

He meets up with his right had man a few blocks away from a new corner, one they’d taken the other day when of of his runners had noticed there was no one on it. As far as Alfredo see’s, it was for the taking. His Lieutenant, Angel Guanzon - sixteen years old and already fully enrolled into a life of crime. He likes the kid, but he sometimes clashes with Alfredo’s preferred method of conducting business. He’s brash and loud while Alfredo’s observant and more cautious, and he’s eager to fuck a dude up for a late payment while Alfredo is always more keen to give them longer and occasionally, for the really young ones, look the other way.

Alfredo doesn’t know if these differences makes Angel respect him any less but he couldn’t complain. The kid was loyal and for the most part listened to Alfredo and did as he was told.

That day was no different than the rest. By early afternoon, Alfredo feels pretty pleased with himself. Business was going well - not booming - especially since they recently lost another couple of their nearby corners in a shootout, but good enough to keep his grandma happy.

No police either so he thanks his lucky stars for that. He’s experienced enough to be able to handle a couple of street cops but damn if they weren’t annoying and put a dampener on his day.

“Just get her some flowers or something, classy like,” Alfredo offers to Angel, who’s telling him about this new girl he’s interested in.

Angel shakes his head, flipping his baseball cap around in his hands. “Nah, nah, dude. This girl ain’t like that. She’s into the hard shit, you see. She wantin’ her man to be a gangsta, not some pussy ass motherfucka with flowers.”

Alfredo shrugs, giving up. He doesn’t fucking know what to say. The most serious relationship he’s ever been in was back in high school and that was only for three months. The girl he’d dated was now married with four kids so… like he was always thinking, different lives.

Commotion down the street. Alfredo is instantly on guard.

“Yo, they’re coming! They’re coming!” Alfredo turns at the sound of one of his look outs voices and sees three members of Pascal’s crew stalking towards him. Pascal’s crew is fairly new on the scene. Ugly looking motherfuckers, the lot of them. But they’re eager and stupidly confident, and that can be a dangerous cocktail.

“Motherfuckers think they looking at?” Angel mutters.

Alfredo holds his ground as they get closer, standing tall as the leader comes right up to him, face merely a few inches from his own. He tries not to laugh at the bandana adorned around the man’s forehead - black with skull and cross bones - really, did this guy know anything?

“Pinoy boy, you done lost your fucking mind. You’re standing on my real estate.”

_Ah so it was Pascal’s crew who were slacking._ If there was one thing Alfredo can appreciate about his own crew, it was their professionalism. They clocked in their hours every day, no complaint - salt of the earth kind of guys.

“Mine now,” he says calmly. “Took it while you was resting.”

Beside him, Angel hoists up his shirt, revealing his 9mm. “Y’all too late,” he taunts. Alfredo holds up a hand, signalling for him to take it easy. This is a delicate situation, no matter how inexperienced these rivals might be. Alfredo doesn’t feel like having to deal with any needless bloodshed this day.

“Look,” bandana dude gets right up in his face, using his extra couple of inches to sneer down, pulling a dumb expression Alfredo supposes is meant to intimidate him. “I’m’a let you walk off right now. Or we could do it the other way.”

Alfredo peers speculatively past him - at the three other guys with their baseball bats. He shakes his head, laughing a little. “Who you got to do it the other way? Them?” He turns around to look at his own crew - more than double the number, most of them armed with something more deadly than a bat.

He turns back, glaring up into the dark eyes, daring him to take his chances. He can’t show weakness, not one slither. This was a test more than anything, a scouting group sent to see if he would easily roll over. Pascal’s crew had something else coming if they thought for a second Alfredo would dishonour his family. No solider would do that.

Bandana dude regards him and his crew, not saying a word. Alfredo sees his jaw working. Eventually he leans even closer, bumping foreheads with Alfredo. “You gonna see me in your sleep,” he threatens, shoving his shoulder hard as he turned and walked away.

“Yeah, I know. I know,” Alfredo calls after him, waving them off dismissively.

The dude turns back. “Yeah,” he shouts.

Alfredo just laughs, turning his back to him. He gives the nod to Angel, who immediately starts jumping up and down, shoving his gun away again. “That’s right, keep walking, bitch!”

Once he’s calmed down and Pascal’s crew have vanished from sight, he looks to Alfredo, who by now is sat outside the closest house, rolling and unrolling a twenty his in fingers. “They’re gonna come back,” Angel says, sitting down next to him.

“Yeah, way we just punk’d them?” Alfredo looks over, sticking the twenty in the corner of his mouth like it’s a smoke. He nods slowly, observing his once again calm corner. “They got to.”

* * *

 

He’s walking back from the club late at night when he’s cornered. He’s had his money counted for the day, earned his twelve percent cut, will be giving the youngin’s their four percent of that at the end of the week. It’s time to head home and hopefully get some time for himself before going to bed so he can wake up and do it all over the next day.

It’s just as he turns into an alleyway that he often uses as a short cut, that a strong pair of hands grab him by the shoulders and shove him roughly into the nearest wall. Two guys, one tall and bulky, the other shorter and muscular, both with short blond buzzcuts, are facing him down.

The taller guy has a hand around his throat while his accomplice presses the edge of his knife against Alfredo’s stomach. His breath hitches in his chest, muscles contracting and eyes widening. At this moment he wishes more than ever for his natural instincts to kick in, for his upbringing to come in use and help him kick these guys asses, or at least get him the hell out out here. But alas, nothing comes, he is simply a coward - which is almost as bad as a rat in his family - almost hyperventilating, quivering like a leaf.

The shorter guy, who still has his blade pressing against Alfredo, gives him the once over, smiling and shaking his head, as if he expected nothing more than a scared kid and was proven right.

“Denver’s baby brother, right?” are the words the guy eventually speaks, when he’s satisfied he has Alfredo shaken enough.

At the mention of his brother’s name, Alfredo stiffens up. “I dunno… who - who you’re talking about.”

The man leans in closer, tilting his head to the side, lowering his eyebrows and pulling a face like he’s a disappointed parent. “Now, don’t give me that. Do I look stupid to you?” He lifts the knife from Alfredo’s stomach, only to bring it up to his face, sliding the flat edge of the blade along Alfredo’s top lip.

Alfredo swallows, unable to look away from the razor sharp edge only inches away from his throat. “Nah, man,” he chokes out.

“Your brother,” he says again, running his finger along the metal, smiling as he does so. “He took a package of ours to sell, you see. This was, what was it, Georgy?” he turns to the huge man.

“Three weeks ago,” this so-called “Georgy” replies in an even thicker accent.

“Three weeks ago. You see? You see my dilemma here, Fredo?”

Alfredo glares. Only his family call him ‘Fredo’. He doesn’t say so though, he’s not an idiot. “He - he owes you money,” he answers instead. Motherfucker was gonna be in so much shit when Alfredo next saw him. And to think he was the one his grandma was always telling him he should look up to. At least Alfredo hadn’t fucked up like this yet.

The shorter man smiles his sickly grin once more, teeth glinting dangerously like a sharks. “Ah see, Georgy? I told you this was a smart boy.” He pats Alfredo patronizingly on the head. “So smart boy, I need to you to do something for me, yes? You go to that thieving brother of yours and you tell him that Dmitri is very upset with him but not unforgiving. I am very forgiving, am I not, Georgy?”

“You’ve got until Friday to get me that money,” he says before spinning and walking away, leaving Georgy and Alfredo alone. Alfredo stares up at the giant, throat working, eyes wide, just hoping and praying he would leave. He did, after a few lingering moments of pure intimidation, spitting in Alfredo’s face and then shoving him roughly to the ground.

Alfredo stays where he is, palms stinging from the scrape against the rough ground, muscles agonizingly tight with tension. Only once both men were safely around the far corner does he struggle haphazardly to his feet, checking first to make sure he truly was uninjured before letting out a pure noise of anger.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cries out, pacing between the tiny gap of the alley walls. He aims a well placed kick at a trash can, sending the contents spilling out into the sidewalk. _I’m gonna kill Denver, if those Ruski bastards don’t first, I’m gonna fucking kill him._

A throat clears, sounding louder on the quiet street, and Alfredo glances up to see an elderly lady standing on her porch, looking very unimpressed with the mess the boy had just made outside her home. Her disapproving gaze doesn’t look too dissimilar to that of Alfredo’s grandma, and he instinctively puts on his best behaviour.

“Sorry ma'am,” he raises his hand apologetically, going to pick up the can and trash, making a big show of putting everything back where it should have been, and even adding a few extra beer cans he was pretty sure weren’t even in there in the first place.

She appraises his work, not saying a word. When he’s done she gives him a hard stare, but then nods her head, turning around and heading back into her home.

Alfredo waits until she’s shut the door, and then leans back against the wall, putting a hand against his warmed and reddened cheeks. Embarrassing though it may have been, the moment does do something to bring Alfredo back to reality, to allow him a moment to pause and think and collect his scattered thoughts. 

_Okay,_ he decided, _this isn’t too bad._ As far as disagreements went between the crews this was pretty small. Alfredo was just ashamed that he’d acted so meekly back there, not even attempting to fight back or stand up for himself.

After a few more minutes to calm himself, he slowly stands up straight, brushes himself down, and begins the walk home again, all the while plotting in his head exactly how he was going to kick his brothers ass.

He’s two blocks away from home when he sees it. Or rather, smells it, first. Smoke, rising from nearby, crackling. Fire. Without even thinking, he hurries towards it, like a moth of the night drawn to flame.

He knows the building. It’s a small hotel, usually catering for travelling workers. He skids to a halt just outside, where there are already a crowd of people watching in awe and fear. Snippets of their conversations drift by. _Firefighters on their way… police too. How’d it start… Some staff still inside… Fire started on purpose… Someone saw people in masks… It was the Fakes… No the Fakes wouldn’t do this… No it was… Fakes… Fakes, Fakes, Fakes._

Alfredo blinks, and everybody around him takes a step back as there’s an explosion from somewhere inside and the extra heat blasts out onto the street.

He almost steps back too, but something stops him.

Shouts.

There _are_ still people inside, possibly trapped.

He runs inside, not pausing to think.

It’s dark inside, surprisingly, the lights must have been cut out by the fire. The only light, of course, comes from the orange and red flames on the curtains and some of the furniture. In the main lobby, however, it mainly seems filled with smoke - the outbreak of the fire must be deeper inside.

Two young women run towards him, emerging from the deadly clouds, dressed in the hotel uniform.

“Is anyone else inside?” he calls to them.

One just runs straight past him, either uncaring or simply too blinded by fear to give him a second glance. The other, however, pauses and looks back. “Only Drew, I think. We tried to get him to come with us but… but, he won’t!” Her face falls. “Oh, God we shouldn’t have left him. We shouldn’t have left him!” She goes to run back but Alfredo grabs her by the arm.

“It’s okay, I’ll get him. Where is he?”

“Staff room, through those doors at the end on the left,” she quickly replies, taking his hand gratefully. “Thank you.”

“It’s alright. You get yourself out of here,” Alfredo instructs before heading quickly but cautiously further in.

“Hello?” he calls out as he nears the destination. There’s a rustle in the darkness. Alfredo steps towards it, and makes out a form huddled on the floor behind a chair. He rushes forward, dropping to crouch next to the man, tearing a strip off his shirt as he does.

“Hey there, are you Drew?”

The man nods, eyes glazed. Red hair plasters to his forehead. He’s young, Alfredo can see, even younger than Alfredo. “Who –” he begins but ends up choking.

“C’mon,” Alfredo tries pulling him. “We’ve gotta get outta here.”

“Can’t,” the man whispers, like a dead-weight under Alfredo’s arm. He can see now how the girls would have struggled with him, but right now Alfredo hasn’t the patience for any breakdowns or panic attacks.

With his greatest strength, he forces the man to his feet, allowing him to lean against his side. “C’mon, this way! Hold this over your mouth,” he instructs, placing his own hand with his torn up shirt across the man’s face.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, they make their way to the main doors. By the time they do get there, Alfredo’s own throat feels raw and his bare arms feel like they are beginning to cook. The emergency services are there now at least, he can get out of here, pleased with his good deed of the day.

As he gives Drew one last shove towards the doors and fresh air, he takes one last glance behind him. Nothing. No screams. Good.

But wait… 

Somehow, even though it’s even smokier than earlier, he catches the glimpse of a figure disappearing around a corner, down the hall Alfredo had not explored.

“Hey buddy!” He yells. “That’s the wrong way!” he calls out frantically, but it’s no good, the figure has vanished.

Alfredo pauses, torn between taking the sensible option and making a run for the exit - where the firefighters are almost ready to make an exit and are calling for him to come out - or following this stranger for no other reason than he was still nursing his bruised pride from earlier and felt like earning some more praise by being the hero for once. Because he wasn’t naive to believe he would go after someone out of the goodness in his heart. Really, he was a fucking criminal at the end of the day. A low-life. No use pretending anything else.

But, for reasons unknown to him, his feet start moving in the direction the figure had gone, slowly at first, but then quickening rapidly until he’s sprinting full blast through the smoke covered room. When he turns the corner he’s met with yet another narrow hallway, tight and full of grey clouds of smoke. He coughs, which is a mistake, and finds himself unable to stop. Harsh, guttural sounds that shake his lungs and leave him stumbling forward.

Forward, still forward. Why was he still going forward? This is madness. Yet he keeps going, going the only possible way the stranger could have gone, down the hallway. He tries the handles but snatches them away with a hiss instantly. They’re blazing hot. _No way they went in there._

Finally, painfully, he reaches the end of the hallway. His eyes are watering rivers and every breath feels like he’s on fire, but blessedly, the air seems to clear here, seems fresher somehow. He looks around, blinking back ash filled tears

A door, ordinary looking but _open_. Was his mysterious stranger holed up inside? They must be, there’s nowhere else they could have gone.

He launches himself in, already preparing to haul another confused stranger to safety, but instead he’s met with an empty room, or what he thinks is an empty room at first. His eyes quickly dart down at movement on the floor, and widen massively when he realises there is a head.

A head poking up through the floor, brown haired and curly, facing away from him and fiddling about with a large duffel bag, cursing as the zip keeps catching.

“You– ” Alfredo starts, utterly bewildered.

He’s cut off instantly by a gun to his face.

Honestly, his fucking luck this evening.

“Shit! Where’d he come from?” the man on the floor yelps, turning and staring up with dark eyes at Alfredo and the other.

“Must’ve followed you,” the voice answers, muffled slightly. Alfredo realizes the reason when he throws Alfredo to the ground and pushes him to face him. His face was covered in a mask. A monkey mask to be precise, that Alfredo would have laughed at, had it not been for the gun still pointed at his fucking head. “Who are you? You work here?” the monkey demands.

Alfredo shakes his head.

“What you doing in here then?” The muffled voice becomes harsher, the gun getting threateningly closer.

Alfredo swallows, wincing as it scratches his throat. “I- I wanted to help,” he manages to hoarsely say.

A pause. And then the man holding the gun is laughing, lowering his weapon. “So,” he starts, “we’ve got a little wannabe hero here.”

Well… he wasn’t entirely wrong.

The monkey man lowered his weapon and grabs his own duffel bag, giving Alfredo’s leg a kick. “What are you waiting for then? Get your ass down there before we’re all barbecue. I don't want the body of a dumb kid on my conscience.”

Alfredo scrambles down the hole, jumping as he’s met with another mask, some sort of carnival one, belonging to the man with curly hair. If the guy was hoping Alfredo hadn’t seen his face or was going to forget it any time soon, he was hopelessly wrong. Sooner or later, Alfredo was going to find there was no way in hell he would ever be forgetting that face.

Another kick and he’s automatically walking forward, through a tunnel that was quite obviously manmade, and that lead underneath the old hotel. Behind him the curly haired man begins whispering. “What happened in there? Did you see? Who would’a done this? Do you think –” However, he is hardly shushed by the monkey man and the rest of the way is quiet.

What feels like an age but is probably five minutes at the most, Alfredo finally sees the most beautiful sight. Greenery. And the smell… the wonderful smell of fresh air. He speeds forward, unable to help himself, and is justly rewarded by a foot sticking into his path and tripping him up.

He lays there, breathing heavily, before rolling over only to be met with yet another masked figure. This one honestly quite terrifying. The mask is almost all black, and what he finds more interesting, is the smidge of paint that pokes out from behind it. Piercing blue eyes watch him curiously. In the near distance he can hear all the commotion and sirens from the hotel, but right now they appear to be in a small park, possibly the one Alfredo smoked his first cigarette in when he was seven.

“Watch yourself,” the monkey man says with a chuckle as he exits too. “That’s a hero you just tripped up there.”

The mysterious figure doesn’t say anything but Alfredo can almost imagine him frowning deeply behind his mask. Eventually he gives a shrug and walks off. Alfredo tilts his head to try and watch him and see where he goes but a clammy hand on his face forces him to look back.

“What are we gonna do about this kid?” the curly haired man asks to who he assumes is the leader, moving his hand to place it on Alfredo’s shoulder, ready to restrain him if needed be.

Alfredo gulps as - now it’s clearer and lighter and he can see - cool blue eyes look down and judge him, taking time to scan every feature and emotion that crosses his face. He finds he can’t look away, can’t break eye contact, just holds his breath even though his stressed lungs are pleading for air. All the while his mind races at light-speed, a multitude of thoughts passing though and crashing into one another. _Holy shit,_ is the main one _. Is this really them? Is this really fucking them?_

Eventually something glints in the cool gaze, and the man turns away. “Let him loose,” he instructs. “He’ll keep shut if he knows what’s good for him,” the man says smirking down at him and grabbing his shoulder to pull him to his feet. He gives Alfredo a shove to send him on his way, with a final word of warning. “And if he doesn’t I’ll personally cut his snitching tongue out myself.”

Alfredo doesn’t waste any time and runs as if his life depends on it, tearing through the park towards his home; and not once looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've honestly never warmed to a guy as quickly as I did to Alfredo. So of course I had to write this!


	2. Chapter 2

Bursting through his door, Alfredo wanted nothing more than to run and lock himself in the bathroom. Unfortunately, that isn’t an option, as the familiar sound from the water pipes informs him his grandma is currently occupying that particular space.

So instead, he runs downstairs, to his room, to the childhood room he’s grown up in, hoping that maybe it can offer some form of comfort and calmness. He doesn’t know what to do - he supposes, the smartest idea would be to wait for his brother to come home and confront him about the mess he’d got Alfredo into earlier. For the other... _issue…_ Shit, he didn’t know, was he even supposed to do anything about that?

It was just - _fuck_ , it was all just such a big fucking mess right now. His head is spinning, his heart pounding, he can still taste the smoke on his tongue and hear the voices of those men.

_The Fakes._

Somehow repeating the name in his mind adds to the gravitas of that day’s earlier events.

_The Fakes._

He’d been in their company, by complete accident, he’d been put in the company of at least some of the crew he’d worshiped on TV and in the papers all these years.

How many had there been? There’d been the two in the building and the one outside who’d tripped him. Had the others been there too? Sure, no one knew quite how many members there were but it was more than three. Usually there’d be reports of at least five or six.

_What’s it matter anyway? Get a grip of yourself._

He hears the door above click shut and exhales in relief. His brother is home and they can deal with the more pressing shit now and keep Alfredo’s mind distracted from the more insane but relatively non-urgent matter.

Denver’s dressed how he normally is. Long white t-shirt, jeans, sneakers and a snapback - like almost every other guy in their neighborhood. He and his brother look remarkably similar, the main difference being Denny was granted the gift of actually being able to grow facial hair.

He greets Alfredo with an amused smile as his younger brother scrambles up the stairs and into the kitchen, and is already busying himself with taking the pre-cooked dinner out of the pot - one that Alfredo had completely ignored in his frenzy - beginning to dish it up.

Alfredo wastes no time in blurting out everything that had gone down in the alleyway after he’d left the club, maybe missing the minor details about how he’d practically pissed himself, but telling his brother of all the important stuff. Namely the money and when they wanted it by.

To his shock, and dismay, Denny seems largely unbothered by it. Well, he’s sure as pissed that they jumped Alfredo like that, but about the whole owing them money? He laughs it off like one would at the silly antics of squabbling children.

“Yeah? Y’know we wouldn’t have this problem if they gave me the good stuff in the first place. Rats are getting smarter - they’re no longer falling for the white chalk shit. Bastards think they can make me submit? I’ll show ‘em what I’m made of, they’ll wish they never met me.” He’s all confidence and lazy grins, and Alfredo starts to think that maybe he’s been freaking out over nothing.

Denny just shoves a plate of food in front of him and orders him to eat. “I’ll deal with it, kiddo. Don’t worry about it.”

* * *

 

It feels like he only blinks and it’s the dead of night, but he can’t sleep. Tomorrow he’s going to have a proper talk with Denver whether his older brother wants to or not. His brother was up late - talking on the phone or his laptop to someone, the quiet murmurings of his voice echoing down the stairs to the basement, and Alfredo could see the hallway light was still on - but since then things have gone quiet and dark and still, and Alfredo assumes he’s asleep.

Unlike Alfredo - the dim glow of the moonlight seeping through the tiny windows that looked more like they were drains once upon a time, reminds him of other later nights back when he was small and he’d wait up in bed for his father to come home after a job, buzzing with anticipation to see the man and hear his stories, or those first few evenings after his father had been killed when Alfredo had been too young to really understand that death meant he’d never see the man again. The word ‘ _never_ ’ not making sense in his confused and distressed mind. Nights spent staring into a particular space not seeable during daylight. His memories, his pains, his fears.

When he wakes up, Denver’s already gone. Alfredo suspects his brother is avoiding him. That was the thing - Denny could talk a mile an hour about anything to anyone, but when it came to personal issues involving family, he’d rather things just be left unspoken. Maybe they were too similar in that respect. But the main difference was the little voice in Alfredo’s head simply wouldn’t _allow_ things left unsaid, no matter how uncomfortable - never had been as good as blocking out his true feelings as his brother.

He tries texting but there’s no reply. He tries calling but it goes through to voicemail. It’s not unusual. His brother kept two phones on him and unless you called the emergency number he often wouldn’t pick up during the day unless you were one of the top dogs.

It’s Alfredo’s one day off in the week, so he thinks, to hell with it, he’ll wait until his brother gets back. Better try and talk things through today rather than waiting til tomorrow when those Ruski’s will be expecting their money.

He waits. And he waits. And he lies and waits when his Grandma arrives home and questions if he’s been inside all day. And when it begins to grow dark he waits some more.

And when it’s nearing ten he receives a text from Denny simply saying he wasn’t coming home that night - that he was too busy. Alfredo reads that as “going to the strip club”.

So seeing as there’s no point in waiting, and that he’s wasted a whole day, Alfredo does the only thing possible. He goes out for a drink.

* * *

 

It’s getting overly crowded and loud, but Alfredo doesn’t feel like leaving just yet. The Rusty is a bar frequented by all kinds of blue collar, lower class folk of their neighborhood. It’s warm, the staff don’t take any shit, and the beer flows cheap and cheerful.

By all accounts, he’d normally enjoy an atmosphere like this. Drunken laughter, the heavy smell of booze, the old-timey songs being played from the jukebox - he’d spent away many a night here, even before, when he was too young to be in such an establishment - and it almost felt like a second home at times. Never seemed to have as much time to visit anymore, though.

But even the familiar setting fails to take his mind off things - as the evening had worn on, Alfredo had found himself sinking deeper and deeper into thoughts of the events occurring the other night.

_Who knows what’ll happen if you run into either of them again, you’re nothing compared to The Fakes, a speck of dust on their radar, and you’ve already shown weakness against those Ruskis. Doesn’t help that Denny brushed you off, but he is the one people have always said is more suited to this life. He probably knows what he’s doing. Still, can’t help imagining all the ways things could go wrong, if something goes wrong…_

A hand brushes against his hip, now, and he’s looking up to see a dark haired older woman leaning over him, posturing her figure suggestively against the bar. His stomach churns at the idea of actually interacting with another human being right now, but his natural politeness wins over.

He feels the woman’s eyes on him as he asks, “Can I help you, ma’am?”

She smiles, leaning further forward, her movements unsteady. “Bye me a drink?”

Alfredo side-glances. She’s a regular, he’s seen her around quite a bit. “I uh… maybe another night.”

“What’s wrong? Don’t like what you see?” she purrs, tracing a finger down her neck to cleavage, biting her lip invitingly.

It’s a dance she’s probably done a hundred times over. Actually, Alfredo’s pretty sure he’s given her money once when she tried this before, just trying to be kind, but she took it as an insult, claiming she wasn’t “some whore”.

He swallows, rushing to think up an excuse, and then purposefully looks away, muttering, “I’m gay.” _What? Where the fuck did that come from?_ That was a new one when it came to excuses. Usually his natural awkwardness would ward any lady off after a while.

The woman snorts, haphazardly standing up straight again. “So?”

At Alfredo’s silence, she sneers. “Whatever, don’t bother me.” And then she’s staggering off, to a man sitting just a few stools down from Alfredo, leaning over him and proceeding to ask the same question.

Alfredo finishes his drink and stands up. He had hoped that maybe he’d find some answers to his problems at the bottom of his glass, but he’s three drinks down and starting to feel tipsy, and there has been no such grand eureka moment yet.

He heads outside, squeezing through the crowds, avoiding drinks being waved precariously in the air. He doesn’t know if he’s going to head home but he… he just needs some fresh air for a minute.

There're two men smoking outside but they leave pretty soon after, leaving Alfredo leaning against the wall. The city always feels strange at night, alien. This part of town, one that wasn’t particularly glamorous or touristy always fell into a sort of slumber. The streets deserted. The only sound coming from establishments like The Rusty, the occasional shouting and dogs barking, and the age-old sound of gunfire, followed - sometimes - by police sirens.

He’s interrupted from his daydreaming by shouts, or grunts, that suddenly begin echoing from nearby. It sounds unmistakably like a fight breaking out. Either that or a couple are very violently making out in the back alley. It is probably something Alfredo should steer well clear of.

Still. He’s always been too curious for his own good, and it’s not like anything too bad can happen, not if he keeps hidden.

Edging quietly along the wall and peering cautiously around the corner, he freezes at the sight of four men engaged in a fistfight. At first he just assumes it’s a normal drunken brawl, but the actions are too precise, too well-balanced, and he realizes it’s more than a common scrap.

At first glance it looks like a very uneven match. Two brutes of men, both with buzzcuts and tattoo filled arms, going up against two smaller, scrappy dudes. But on closer inspection, it looks like something completely different. One of the smaller ones, a skinny guy dressed head to toe in black, with his hood up, isn’t even bothering to throw a punch of his own. Instead, he is simply ducking and diving under every fist thrown his way. His movements are lithe and sleek, like a cat, perfectly timed and graceful. He doesn’t even seem to be that _invested_ in the scrap.

And the other man, slightly shorter with curly hair, in just a t-shirt and jeans, is just as unconventional. The man he may going up against may be double the size of him, but again, each time the big man tries to attack, he performs some reversal, ending with the big guy trapped in some hold, only to release him a moment later. He was toying with him, that was clear, looking like he was enjoying it too, because after a few more rounds the smaller man starts laughing.

Perhaps it’s his laughter that causes him to lose concentration for just that split second, because a devastating right hook to his cheek has his whole body spinning backward.

The man slowly raises his head, bringing up a hand to touch at his face, and Alfredo’s heart doubles its speed without him knowing why.

_Do I… know you?_ He can’t quite see him properly, there’re too many shadows falling across him.

He doesn’t have long to take in his face anyway, because the man suddenly grins, sneers, and is quickly spinning back and landing a punch of his own, one that sends the huge guy crashing to the ground. He spits red on him, and Alfredo can’t quite hear but he’s pretty sure he says something like, “You had to go and ruin the fun, didn’t you?”

Again, there’s that twinge of recognition in the back of Alfredo’s mind, as the man then saunters slowly down the alley, towards his accomplice.

The other man is left blinking in a daze on the ground, but after a second his attention is grabbed. Alfredo wanders if he’s had his senses knocked from him as he starts leaning towards a pile of trash stacked up against the wall - squints as the man reaches behind one of the trash bags and slowly pulls on something. His eyes narrow as the gleam of metal shines under the dim street lights. The dude had somehow found and was pulling out a fucking metal pipe! Now that would certainly spice things up, although he doubted it would change the outcome much.

The shorter man stops, hearing the footsteps as his foe struggled to his feet and staggered behind him. Alfredo sees the figure's shoulders sagging, as if bored. But he didn’t do anything else. Surely he would turn now to face his attacker? No matter how amazing you were, that was generally a good idea.

As the brute grows closer, Alfredo finds himself stepping slightly around the corner.

“Back for round two?” the man snidely asks, still without turning around.

_Turn around dude!_ Alfredo wasn’t quite sure why he was on a side all of a sudden.

The man doesn’t turn, only his fists clenching. The oncoming attacker has his grip still firmly around the metal pipe. 

Alfredo bites his lip. Again, it’s that same compulsion he felt when he’d ran inside a burning building - back then he’d thought it was because of some complex of wanting to be a hero for once instead of a criminal. Now though, there was no reason like that. All he knew was that he wasn’t going to let this brute of a guy hit the other with a solid chunk of metal.

As the man raises the pipe, aiming for the curly head, Alfredo charges forward without so much as a pause to think, launching a surprise attack on him. He’s kept himself strong, lean, all his life, but he was nothing compared to this mass of a man. Jumping on him had seemed like a good idea at the time, not so much when the curly haired man aims a powerful kick to the brute’s crotch - although he can’t see properly but honestly, it’s the only thing that could have occurred.

The man doesn’t even scream or shout - his whole body just goes rigid, like he’s been electric shocked, and then slowly, almost comically, the man falls backward - and naturally, because he’s an idiot, Alfredo goes with him. He isn’t sure the black dots that appear in his vision will ever go away, as he struggles under what feels like three hundred pounds of human.

_Well… that was successful. You. Fucking. Idiot._

He hears more shouting, and the sound of another body hitting the deck, and then… it’s quiet again. Other than the low rasps of pain coming from above him. No lie - you hit a man where it really matters and he’s reduced to a whimpering baby.

Alfredo’s world shifts and rejoices at once, as eventually the weight is hauled off him and chucked into a wall nearby. There are a few mutterings and then someone is approaching him quickly.

There’s a pause as Alfredo blinks blearily up at the man, who stares back down at him silently, and Alfredo remembers that shit, yeah, he wasn’t exactly on this guy’s side. He’d just decided in his idiotic brain that he should help. For all he knew, this guy was some fucking murderer or something!

_Great… you’ve really done fucked up now. You should -_

“Hey, it’s the kid again!” The voice doesn’t sound angry, but excited. As his vision comes back into focus, he can see it belongs to the curly haired man, and Alfredo recognizes him, and he remembers that voice. And his eyes nearly pop out of his skull.

“What the fuck are you looking at? Get the hell outta here!” An angry British voice snaps. Alfredo isn’t sure if it’s directed at him. “And if he’s not dead, get that guy outta here too!” Guess not.

“It’s alright, Gav, I know him, he’s the kid me and Geoff ran into - or he ran into us…”

There’s a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Whatever, Michael, we shouldn’t have come here anyway. I bloody told you it was a bad idea, bloody told you, but noooo, oh it’ll be fine you said, what’s the worst that can happen?” He squawks out in a high pitched imitation.

The man leaves Alfredo, who manages to push himself up into a sitting position, breathing heavily.

He looks over at the two, who are standing over the two brutes, who in turn are even more dazed than Alfredo. “You think these are the guys?” the curly haired man asked, vaguely hopeful sounding.

Alfredo doesn’t know what they mean by “the guys”. He’s more concerned with the fact that they’ve both just addressed the other by their names - their _first_ names - in front of him. _That’s not right_ , his fuzzy mind told him, _you’re not supposed to know that. This could be really bad._

Fortunately they seem to have forgotten about Alfredo for the time being. The one called Gav inspects the two men, left slumped against the wall in their daze. He eyes them fiercely, like a big cat mulling over its dinner. “Nah, I know these two psychos - they’re no hardened criminals they’re just _stupid_ , and _desperate_.” He emphasises the descriptions with a firm kick at each guy, before stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. “C’mon, Michael let’s go. You two, fuck off.”

The men don’t need to be told twice - scrambling haphazardly to their feet and scampering off down the alley like kids running from a school fight.

“You wanna go, you go. But I’m not leaving until I’ve had at least one drink.”

For a moment, Alfredo thinks the British man is going to argue, but then he looks away, resigned, and kicks at an empty beer bottle. “Fine, you go in. I’ll stay out here and keep watch. 

A moment’s silence - perhaps an unspoken argument, but then the attention’s unfortunately back on Alfredo. “Hey,” the man asks, crouching down in front of him and snapping his fingers in front of his eyes. “You okay, dude?” 

“I –” Alfredo falters, thinking over his word choice carefully. “It’s alright. I’ve had worse,” he assures. His ribs aren’t broken at least - he hadn’t heard or felt a crack. Maybe just a little bruised - and he’d dealt with those before.

The man nods, offering his hand, and slowly Alfredo accepts it. “Tough guy, huh?” he says, as he pulls him to his feet.

“Nah… just a soldier,” Alfredo replies through gritted teeth.

The corner of the man’s mouth tilts upwards, where a bruise is already forming. “Thank you, soldier. I owe you one. Made my day with that little stunt you pulled there.”

“Everything okay?” Alfredo surprises himself by asking, and the guy, _Michael_ \- he now knows this guy’s name is Michael - raises his eyebrows, also seeming surprised by the question, amused even.

“Yeah, I’m fine, not the first fist fight I’ve been in and sure as hell won’t be the last. Hey, you sure you’re okay?” He asks as Alfredo doubles over again as he tries to stand up straight, and he places a hand on Alfredo’s shoulder. He frowns as Alfredo flinches away instinctively, his brain still partially screaming at him to get away as quick as possible. 

“Just winded. That guy was built like a fucking football player.” Alfredo looks down, biting at his lower lip. After a moment he blurts out, words tripping over each other in his haste. “I don’t wanna cause any trouble. I’m not gonna do nothin’. I won’t say nothin’. I can just go and forget about everything. Did before, I didn’t mean to run into you again, it just happened. I’m sorry.”

Michael looks confused for a second, but then his face softens as he reads between the lines. He moves a hand under Alfredo’s arm and helps straighten him up - a gentle but strong touch - slowly enough this time that Alfredo doesn’t flinch. _He must think you a weakling_ , Alfredo thinks. _Getting into such a state after something as small as that._ Alfredo knows he wouldn’t normally act like this either, but it’s… well, it’s been a hectic couple of days.

“Hey,” Michael says, with surprising tenderness. “Let’s go inside - I wanna drink and I owe you at least one too. Those guys may have spooked Gav, but to hell if a couple of brain-dead thugs are gonna put a dampener on my night. And about the whole, you know what we look like so now we’re gonna have to kill you thing, don’t worry about it, it’s just a scare tactic -well, sort of - and by now I think I’ve gotta pretty good idea about you. Far as I’m concerned this is twice you’ve gone out of your way to help someone you thought you saw in trouble. Thank you.” 

He sounds sincere, and Alfredo peeks up at him.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies, with a little smile. “I think I was just trying to feel like I was doing something good for once.” Even as he says it the words don’t quite sound true, but it’s the closest he can get to it right now. 

“Well, consider your good deed of the day done. Not saying that I wouldn’t have handled that dude, cause I would’ve, but I appreciate back up in any form.”

He begins to pull Alfredo back into The Rusty - which is a strange atmosphere to return to - with a grin, and Alfredo fights off his rabbit in headlights expression. It’s insane. What’s happening right now is insane. Only two nights ago he’d been witnessing this guy - one of the Fakes, people he’s been idolizing for years - pull off some sort of heist, or at least escape one that had somehow gone wrong. And now here he was, being pulled into The Rusty by the same dude, who was now offering to buy him a drink.

_Just stay cool. He won’t try anything dodgy in here, with all these people around. Just gotta be careful. This guy almost seems like any normal person - there’s no need to freak out._ But he wasn’t like any normal person, that was the problem. 

“My Grandma used to raise me on your news clips,” he whispers, and Michael shakes his head while Alfredo’s cheeks burn. _What the hell did I just say?_  

“Y’know, you’d be surprised how often we hear that.” He chuckles lightly. "Hell, I was kinda the same."

The casual ease in the way Michael replies to that quite frankly creepy admission, makes it a little easier to breathe. Michael must notice the relief on his face; he looks amused suddenly, but doesn’t say anything about it. Just eyes out a couple of free seats and pulls Alfredo over to them, pulling out a chair and practically forcing Alfredo into it.

“I’m gonna get one of their craft beers. That good for you?”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Alfredo assures him, and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, checking his ribs over once again. _Ouch_ , yep definitely bruised. When he opens them again, Michael has already closed in on the bar, and once again Alfredo’s brain seems intent on reminding him of the absurdity of this situation.

_This isn’t something that just happens. This isn’t something that just happens to a guy like me._ And yet it had. And as Michael returns, drinks in hand, it becomes that more real. 

Michael sits, setting their drinks down, and immediately takes a gulp of his, letting out a satisfied sound as the liquid touches his lips. “Needed that - this is what I came for, a good drink with good company. Well, Gav was my first choice but seeing as he’s decided to go on watchdog duty, you’ll have to do. There’s many other nights for me and Gav.” Michael’s smile is fond and Alfredo feels a tinge of something almost like jealousy. It must be nice, being part of such a tight and trusting crew, having people you relied on that closely. 

Don’t get him wrong, Alfredo was tight with his own guys, but that only went so far. Most of them are only kids, he doesn’t know how many he could truly count on in a life and death situation. And outside of work, if they weren’t family, he barely saw them at all. It was purely business.

“Holy shit!” Michael exclaims, breaking Alfredo out of his reverie. The older man’s staring at him likes he’s just discovered something amazing. “I just realized I’ve been talking to you all this time, and I don’t even know your name. My mother would be absolutely horrified by my lack of manners.”

Oh, that was right, wasn’t it? Somewhere in his mind, Alfredo had assumed that Michael didn’t want to know his name, to at least keep some sort of distance between them. “It’s uh… I’m Alfredo,” he replies, quietly.

“Nice to meet you, Alfredo. I mean it. In my line of work you often find yourselves working within the same small circles, rare you actually just get to meet a normal dude who isn’t involved in my sort of life.” There’s something in the way Michael says it that makes Alfredo wonder what exactly Michael assumed he _did_ ; that Alfredo had already unintentionally given enough hints for the other to realize he didn’t exactly have a normal day job.

But then maybe that was the point. Maybe Michael just wanted someone to talk to someone who wouldn’t balk at his mere presence - no matter how in awe Alfredo was - but wasn’t high enough in the chain that they’d ever normally run into one another in their day to day lives. Not significant enough to be an ally. Or a rival.

“I guess I owe you too,” Alfredo murmurs. “You did let me use your little escape tunnel after all, even if I was only there thinking I was trying to save you. Most crews wouldn’t have let me walk out of there alive.”

“We aren’t most crews,” Michael replies, but raises an eyebrow at him. “But why do I get the feeling you’re speaking from experience?”

Alfredo shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. He knows Michael’s prodding for answers is most likely out of pure curiosity - that Alfredo’s own problems probably seemed so minuscule to whatever had been going on with that heist and that fire - but something about the smile on Michael’s face makes Alfredo want to share everything, he wants Michael to know. To hear what’s going on, to offer some words of wisdom. 

 _Here’s someone who’s been there and done it all_ , he thinks - _surely he might have some idea on how to deal with a rival crew. And what the fuck, if he kills you after this, at least you’ve got something off your chest._  

“I… I ran into some trouble,” he says hesitantly, keeping a firm gaze on his drink rather than at Michael. “ _Before_ I ran into your lot, I was walking home. There were these guys - rival crew, I know ‘em, or know of them - and they jumped me. Only two guys, I know it sounds dumb, but they took me unawares and suddenly there’s this knife at my throat. Said my brother owed them money, that he’d taken a package and hadn’t paid ‘em back. Said if they didn’t get that money back by tomorrow night there’d be trouble.” Alfredo sighs. “But when I talked to my brother he told me that the stuff they gave him were bad, that it wasn’t selling for enough and that there was no way he was payin’ them back. Said he’d sort it all out, but I dunno…”  

“Shit - so this is all over some heroin? Coke?” 

Alfredo’s lips twist, wryly.

“It must seem… very trivial. Probably something you deal with loads, right?”

“You think?” Michael asks, and his eyes narrow in thought. “No, not really… I ain’t been alley jumped since I was a kid. Now you could say the violence and danger is upped significantly, but so’s my team and all the weapons and technology we have behind us.” 

_This is a weird conversation to be having._

“Yeah… different worlds. Sorry for rambling.” 

“No, no, no - don’t apologize. I may be older now but don’t think I don’t remember how scary and _personal_ local gang scraps can be. But I gotta few questions for you.” Michael sounds genuinely interested, and it’s gratifying - that someone cares. “What exactly is your role in your crew? What would be, say, your day-to-day schedule?”  

It’s so strange - having the question presented in such a professional and _normal_ way.

“Um, well I just run one of the corners. I’ve got guys who keep the packages in a safe place. I’m there to hand out and collect the cash in at the end of the day, and to deal with any trouble with the police or other crews who come on our turf.” He finds it’s embarrassing to admit, thinking how mundane it must sound, but Michael nods. 

“So… you’re like a Lieutenant?” 

Alfredo nods at the familiar term.

“And your crew, it’s drugs only?”

“Yeah, strict rules on that. Had a few guys get into some serious shit when they tried to deviate.”

Michael takes a long sip from his beer, placing it back down with a thud and spinning the half-full glass in one hand. “How long you been doing it?” 

Alfredo shrugs, smiling uncertainly. “Forever. Was born into it. Kinda on and off during elementary and middle school - did a few months of high school but dropped out after uh… after my girlfriend dumped me. Been school-less and girlfriend-less ever since.” 

“So you never really had much choice, I mean, in the career department, I’m sure you get a lot of offers with the other issue,” Michael scoffs, so matter-of-factly that Alfredo blushes. “Good looking kid like you, you must be more of a hit it and quit it kinda guy right now, I’m guessing.” 

“Not really,” Alfredo mumbled, knotting his hands together. “I haven’t really been with _anyone_ since then. Just sorta kept to myself and played video games in my room in my free time.” He wonders when this conversation had switched to his love life, or lack thereof.

Michael barks out a laugh, in a sort of disbelief. “Jeez, how old are you, kid?” 

“Twenty-eight… I mean, almost.” It’s embarrassing, and it must show on his face, because Michael smiles.

“Hey, no shame in that Mr, Almost Twenty-Eight. I mean, I can’t really talk, I’ve only been in one serious relationship myself, I’m just lucky enough to still be in that same one. And I can see how your line of work doesn’t allow for many opportunities to hook up with someone. Heck, that’s why I wanted to buy you drink, not for um… I mean, I just wanted to meet someone new for a change, like I said.” It was the other man’s turn to blush, and it was such a _human_ reaction that it catches Alfredo off guard, as if he didn’t expect a member of The Fakes to express such emotions. In a way, they’d always seemed to mythical, so inhuman, growing up and watching them in the news, perhaps he had started to view them as characters, rather than as people.

But then here was Michael, admitting to being in a quote-on-quote, _serious relationship,_ and then getting all flustered.

“Married to your work, right?” Michael asks, the red still present in his pale cheeks.

“Something like that,” Alfredo says, and smiles a bit ruefully, finally relaxing a bit. The more time passed, the less he felt he was actually in any danger. Also the three and a bit beers could be helping. “I feel like I owe it. I’ve been _told_ I owe it, to my family, and to the other members of the crew who looked out for me when I was small and both my parents were gone. Some days I dream of… something _else_ but then I remind myself that that’s not real life, that that ain’t gonna happen, so I might as well make the most of what I got. And I am grateful for what I got. For my grandma and my brother. S’why stuff like this puts me on edge - anything to do with family, it makes everything that bit more _real_. And I’m not the guy who can cope with it. I’ve gotten better over the years but I’m just… I’m just not like the others. I’m a soldier, but I don’t enjoy it. I don’t take pride in what I do. I just do it cause it’s my duty.” He lets out a long breath, admitting quietly, “And I fucking hate killing - seeing a body hit the floor after you’ve… that’s a sight you I can never forget.”  

He glances back up at Michael, expecting ridicule or amusement from the man. Instead, what he finds shocks him. Michael nods. There’s a gentle understanding in his eyes, a look of empathy, Alfredo thinks. He supposes, if anyone knows what it was like to kill someone, it would be a member of The Fakes. He can’t even imagine how high their body count must be, individually and as a whole crew.

“I know it sounds dumb. And I know the guys I killed weren’t good either. But I take no pleasure in it, cause at the end of the day, when I look in their eyes and see the life leaving them… at the end of the day, I just find it’s my own face I’m staring into. That the guy I killed could have just as easily been me. Or my brother.” He looks to Michael again, almost desperately. “I can’t lose my brother, Michael.”

“Okay,” Michael breathes, and Alfredo huffs out a bit of a laugh, fidgeting awkwardly. 

“Sorry, you didn’t come here to hear all that.” 

“Not true. I came here for some company and some company you have provided. And believe it or not I know what you mean.” He gives Alfredo a hard stare. “We kill, you know that. It’s part of the job. But it _is_ and always _will_ _be_ , a last resort. There’s a reason I run with the crew I chose and that’s one of them. If, for whatever reason, that were to change, then I’d be out. Quick as a flash, I’d be out. But luckily I don’t have to worry about shit like that.” He offers Alfredo an apologetic look. “I would help you with your problem, I really would, but there’s other stuff going on that we’re still trying to figure out ourselves - that little million something robbery you might’ve seen on the news the other week? Well, that’s all gone, and that’s not even the start of it. At the moment, the best I can offer you is some advice.” 

Alfredo shrugs a bit, scratching his nails into the indents on wooden table, thinking over what Michael had just said - wondering what exactly had occurred. “That’s more than I could ever expect anyway,” he says, “You’ve taken me more seriously than members of my own crew would. When he looks up Michael’s eyes are genuinely concerned - genuinely angry, but not at Alfredo. On his behalf.

_How could he care already? He barely knows you. Your problems are none of his concern and sounds like he’s got enough of his own._

_Right?_

He shakes it off. Their glasses are nearly empty now - he hadn’t even realized he’d been drinking.

“I think you should go with your brother tomorrow night - fuck what he says. If you’ve got a bad feeling about this, you trust your instincts. Bring back up if you want, who cares what they might think of you if it turns out everything’s fine.”

“Is that what you would do?” Alfredo asks, a little shyly.

Michael just shrugs. Apparently he’s got no qualms about sharing his secrets too, now. 

“Yeah, that’s kinda a code I’ve always lived by and always tried to encourage others to follow. Gav, out there, he was more like you when I first met him - always unsure and second-guessing himself.” He leans forward, a strange smile on his lips. “Let me tell you right here and now, for all of his joking, that man out there possesses one of the most brilliant minds in this fucking city. I’ve lost count how many times his quick thinking has saved my sorry ass.” 

“I see,” Alfredo whispers - maybe too quiet for Michael to hear him in the rowdy atmosphere. He feels a bit like an imposter. Hearing Michael talk about someone else in The Fakes, someone he was obviously very close to, felt like a privilege he shouldn’t be entitled to. There’s a deep _something_ in Michael’s eyes, an emotion or memory that doesn’t quite seem to be going away. “And what if it does go bad? What if I find myself with a fight on my hands?” He’s had to deal with minor gang wars before, but never over something his brother had done. He’d never been directly linked to one before. 

Michael’s spine stiffens. 

“You fight tooth and nail with everything you’ve got,” he replies, voice deepening. “You do everything in your power to protect those around you and you won’t give in until your dying breath. You lay your life on the line if it means saving those you love.” 

Alfredo shivers suddenly, even though it’s nowhere near cold. He has a feeling Michael is not only talking about Alfredo’s problems now. 

“Is it bad?”

Alfredo doesn’t know why he asks. Curiosity, maybe. Or again - maybe a tad close to jealousy. That here was a man being very open and honest with his emotions and feelings towards his crew, an example of why The Fakes had stuck together when so many high-risk crews had disbanded, or disappeared or simply died out. Again, he was reminded how different their lives must be.

Michael looks down. Alfredo worries that he’s gone too far and he’s upset him, or angered him - but after a moment Michael starts laughing. Low, humorless, scoffing chuckles.

“I don’t know,” he replies, and reaches up, rubbing his hands over his face. As he tilts his head back, in the warm glow of the lights, Alfredo suddenly notices how young he looks. Soft cheeks, one darkening by the minute from the earlier punch, and feathery hair, the freckles on his face. “We don’t know who, what or why. The stuff that’s been happening to us recently is… concerning, but we’re working on it. That heist you caught us on the other night was actually a little test, we were expecting it to go wrong, ready for it to go wrong, had surveillance and guys all around to see if they could spot anything, but nope. We got nothing. Whoever these guys are, they’re good.”

“But you’ll be fine, I mean, you’re the most powerful gang in the city.”

“Yeah? We weren’t always. There was another lot who came before us. Powerful crews fall just as easily as small ones. The only difference being, they fall harder.”

Alfredo stares at him, confused, and after a moment Michael lowers his hands and stares back at him. His eyes aren’t angry, but there’s still that something in them - something deep and unsettled.

“Having power doesn’t mean you quit worrying. In fact, quite the opposite, cause it feels like everybody’s out to get you,” he continues. “And I’m not good at worrying, I leave that to Jack and Geoff. Let them handle things while I come out and try to drink my worries away.” 

“You… you worry because you care,” Alfredo manages, and Michael gives a heavy sigh. His hands are braced against his knees. 

“Of course I fucking care,” he says roughly, and takes a deep, shaky breath. “You’d understand if you were with us. Those guys… they’ve seen me at my very lowest and my very worst and yet somehow, for reasons I still struggle to understand, they stick by me, through it all, they’ve got my back. It can just send my head into a spin sometimes, y’know? Trying to make sure I got all their backs covered as well.”

“You sound like a good friend,” Alfredo says softly. Then, “Thank you, Michael. Not just for the whole not killing me part and offering me advice. But just for talking to me and for being honest. I haven’t… I don’t remember anybody talking to me like that. It was nice. I only wish I could help you the same way you’ve helped me.”

Michael’s face brightens a little. He shakes himself, seeming to attempt to regain some of his former bravado.

“It’s no problem,” he says, and turns away for a moment, shoulders heaving as he takes a deep breath. “Look at me. I came here to try and forget my problems with Gav, and instead I’ve laid them all out on the table to a complete stranger.” He smiles a little, regarding Alfredo. “Or maybe I should be calling you an acquaintance now, after all, you’ve sat here and listened to me spew shit,” he announces, and Alfredo chokes out a startled laugh.

“I think we’re even on that front,” he says.

Michael shrugs.

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be the wise old-timer, parting knowledge onto a scrappy young upstart like yourself - not unloading all my problems onto you.” He grins then, a fond smile shining towards Alfredo. 

“Gavin’s gonna say I shouldn’t have told you any of that, in case you do turn out to be a piece of shit. But I’ve been around a lot of pieces of shit in my day - and you smell like roses compared to them so - thanks, for listening.”

Alfredo doesn’t really know what to say to that - some part of him still believes this is a dream he’ll wake up from at any moment - another part realizes that at some point in their whole conversation, they’d both finished their drinks, and he was also now completely relaxed. Michael’s smiling so warmly that he can’t help but return it. 

“Tell you what, I might be otherwise occupied now, but what you said got me thinking,” Michael began, pulling something out of his pocket. “You got a pen on you?” Alfredo shakes his head, tilting it in curiosity as Michael snatches one off another table. “This here,” he says, scribbling down something on the scrap piece of paper, “this here’s my own personal number. You get in any trouble, you call that number. This is my favor to you for being such a good drinking buddy. It’s a one-time thing though, don’t think I can just go around helping you out whenever you need it.” 

He stands up then, gripping Alfredo’s shoulder for a second, regarding him with a strange expression, and then leaving without another word.

Alfredo watches him leave, then turns back. The piece of paper sits in front of him. The digits on there staring back at him - never had he thought he’d be so hypnotized by a set of numbers.

Alfredo lets out a shaky laugh of disbelief, grabbing the note and stuffing it deep in his pocket. 

_Well, fuck me._

* * *

 

Everything was wrong the moment he entered the building - an abandoned warehouse near the docks, in a section guarded by one elderly, half-asleep guard who didn’t give a damn what went on during his watch. Alfredo was just glad his brother had let slip where the meet was in the first place - after that initial talk, he hadn’t seen his brother since.

He’d woken up late after the previous night, and had then needed an extra hour or so to try and comprehend what had happened and convince himself it hadn’t all just been a dream. In the end, the piece of paper, still in his pocket, was all the confirmation he’d needed.

His brother was already gone, working, and it was where Alfredo should have been a few hours earlier. Surprisingly, his grandma hadn’t woken him up, but all made sense when he went upstairs and saw an angry note saying that she’d tried to wake him up but failing that ordered him to tidy the house from top to bottom before she returned home. 

There was also a voicemail from Angel calling him a “lazy ass sonofabitch” but also saying he’d cover for him and offering him any help if he needed it. Yeah, that kid was alright. But Alfredo didn’t want to drag the teen into this. He’d called up a few of the boys, but none of them saw the point of accompanying him. They were all busy. Alfredo would have to be enough.

He was going to the meet early, in order to not miss it. He’d called Denny a few times as well, but again there’d been no answer - his brother was just going to have to get pissed that Alfredo had turned up uninvited.

As he stepped into the warehouse, though, an unnerving sense of dread had descended upon him. It’s growing dark, evening closing in. His shadow casts long - looming and vanishing into the dark building. His ribs still give off a dull ache. He's wrapped them tightly but it'll take them a few weeks to heal up. He just hopes he won't need to do any fighting today.

He walks further in.

There's no one about. It’s quiet, strangely so, ominously so - he can’t see or hear anyone.

But that’s not why he’s frozen to the spot.

It’s largely empty and filled with an old, rusty smell, and there’s a cold draft flowing through the open space.

That’s not why he’s shaking. 

Specks of dust, illuminated by the hole in the roof, floating down slowly, swirling into various patterns, descending to the floor in their little dance.

That’s not why he’s staring. 

That’s not why his heart's thudded to a stop.

The figure was lying with his back to him, but Alfredo knew, with his heart in his throat, he _knew_ who it was the second his eyes laid eyes on them. Long white t-shirt, jeans, dark hair.  

His legs were stumbling forward, as his lungs constricted under the shock at the sight.  

He collapsed to his knees next to his brother, not bothering to question why the floor felt damp when it hasn’t rained in weeks. He can’t take his eyes off the back of his brother’s head. 

“Denny…” 

He reaches out and grabs the shoulder. He pulls until his brother falls onto his back.

Cold, pale skin. Open, soulless eyes. Throat slit.

_He’s dead._

“Denny, c-c’mon…”

_No. It can’t be._

But it is. He’s dead. His older brother is dead.

He shifts and his knees nearly slip. Only now does he notice there’s so much blood; everywhere he looks is red. He’s breathing too fast and it’s a struggle to stop it.

_Not dead. Murdered._

He hears the sounds of footsteps approaching, tap-tapping on the concrete floor. He tries to stand up, but can’t. His knees are rooted to the ground and he can feel a sickly dampness seeping through the denim. He can’t bring himself to stand, though - all the life has been drained out of him, just like his brother’s had. 

“What have you done to him?” he hisses, although it’s painfully obvious what had been done to his brother. Not just the method of death, such a cruel way to go - struggling for air and choking on your own blood -

Alfredo doesn’t want to think about it but he can’t help himself. Can’t begin to imagine his brother, a man he’d always idolized and looked up to, more than anyone - even The Fakes - who’d always been so strong and outgoing - can’t imagine his last moments being so… helpless.

“Take a good look at him, _boy_.” It’s the same guy he met before, the smaller one. He’s wearing a fedora this time - decked out in a suit like an old-school gangster. This time he’s also accompanied by not just one, but half a dozen henchmen, all clones of each other. “He came to us earlier than scheduled, demanded to talk to us, demanded that _we_ be the ones who apologize _._ _Threatened_ us. Pulled a gun on one of my men. Well…” he scoffs. “This is what happens when you don’t meet _our_ demands. Your brother did this to himself because he had the nerve to go back on his word. He was in the wrong here, boy, and you can’t say I didn’t give him a chance to pay his debts. I am a reasonable man after all.”

_No._  

This was more than a petty squabble over money.

Alfredo’s fists clenched, his fingers sticking to his palms.

This wasn’t things were _done_! Was this guy insane? Alfredo knew that this horrendous act only meant one thing. An outright declaration of war. And a war was bad for all crews involved. Nothing good ever came of it. Just more death and destruction.

“But a man can only be reasonable for so long,” the man carries on, as deadly calm as ever. “Your brother’s actions have bought you some time, but now it’s up to you to pay up.” He crouches down, breath tickling Alfredo’s ear, and it takes every inch of Alfredo’s self-restraint not to grab at his throat. “You don’t bring me what that shit head owed me by Saturday and it’ll be your dear old grandmama next. You got that?” 

When he pats Alfredo on the back, every fiber of his being is screaming at him to kill. To take his revenge. To make him pay.

He wants to do _something_. He wants to make things right. But the only way to do that is go back in time. Doing anything now would only get himself killed, and that wouldn’t do anyone much good.

So he lets them go. Still knelt in his brother's blood, hands lying limply on his knees, tear-filled eyes staring into his brother’s own lifeless ones.

They leave him there, struggling to breathe properly, eyes blurry, stinging; muscles constricting painfully, whole body shaking.

The coldness in the warehouse, and from the oncoming night, claws into his bones. Suddenly he can’t be near Denny anymore, can’t bear to look at him. That’s not his brother anymore. His brother is gone. 

He runs - in no particular direction. Just runs as fast as he can away from that warehouse and the body of his brother, ignoring the pain in his chest. Runs through the old dockyard, blinded by sorrow and rage. Ran until there was no more ground and all that was ahead of him were the metal railings that blocked him from the sea. And only then does he stop. Stop and double over, before throwing his head back and screaming to the heavens. 

His cry of anguish echoes around the empty dockyard. 

He’s out of breath, shivering even more now he’s facing the full force of an ocean breeze. His clothes still stick to him uncomfortably, sickeningly. 

He pulls out his phone. He knows he has to act in some way. First of all he has to make sure the… the body is taken care of. He needs people he can trust. Who can he trust? 

What was the point of being in a fucking crew if none of them had responded to his earlier requests for back up?  What was the fucking point?

His fingers slip, leaving smears of blood on his phone screen, making it hard for him to read the contacts through his damp eyes. He realizes he doesn’t know who to call. His Grandma? No, he couldn’t bear to speak to her. Couldn’t bear to tell her that another one of her family members is gone. He should call… he should call his Uncle - but he knows the man would be on the warpath immediately, blinded by rage and hatred. Alfredo doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want a war. He wants to make them pay - he _will_ make them pay, but not like that. He just needs - he needs a moment, that’s all. A moment to figure out what the fuck he’s supposed to do. 

More tears spring to his eyes as he remembers who exactly he would call at moments like these.

“You promised you’d always be here…” he whimpers under hushed breath. “You promised you’d always have my back.”

And he had done - to the very end. Or at least that’s what Denny would have believed he’d been doing. Alfredo had no doubt, his brother’s idea to go and confront them earlier was due to them threatening his own baby brother.  

_If you weren’t so helpless…_

Now though, Alfredo was in even deeper, murkier waters, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength or stamina to stay afloat.

_They’ll kill Grandma, and then you’ll be all alone._  

His fingers hover over the contacts for his Lt, but he stands his ground on that one, still not wanting to bring the kid in on something like this. Also he doesn’t want the boy to see him in this state. 

Who then? He can’t fucking just linger here covered in his brother’s own blood for the rest of the night! The place might be quiet but it wasn’t completely abandoned. If he didn’t get things sorted soon who was to say a wandering dock worker or trespassing teenagers wouldn’t stumble across the scene and get the cops involved in something they had no business in.

_You could have prevented this… somehow…_

He should have been here. He should never have let his brother come alone - never let him out of his sight. He should have trusted his instincts more. He should’ve been here, he should’ve been here, he should’ve been here -

_Pull yourself together! Denny deserves better than this! Better than you!_

He sniffs, and wipes an arm across his face, trying to avoid coating himself in blood any further. God, he’s always hated how it feels. How blood can dry so quickly and turn sticky, impossible to rub off. How it would cake under your fingernails, turning black and flaky. Dead.

He scrolls through the list of names in his contacts, not really taking any of them in. He hovers over his Uncle’s name again - supposes that’s the best option, word would get around quick enough anyway.

He goes to call him, but as if attached to some invisible wire, his hand jerks away last moment. There was always…

He digs into his pocket, praying it was still there.

It is, and Alfredo plants a permanent red fingerprint on the corner of it as he haltingly keys in the number.

He calls it.

It rings for about ten seconds.

And then… “Yo.”

His mind blanks. 

“… anyone there? Jeremy I swear –” 

“Michael?” he whispers, shakily.

“Oh… yeah? Sup.” The man sounds like he’s in the middle of eating - Alfredo can hear other voices in the background, laughter, a joyful atmosphere. “Who is this?” Michael asks, but Alfredo finds his tongue as gone numb. He only emits a quiet, nervous breath. The tone on the other end shifts, and the background noise quietens, as if Michael is walking away. “… Alfredo?” he says after a moment.

A strange calm settles over him, although his blood begins to simmer in his veins as he sets one very clear goal in his mind, and fuck if he’s ever going to get a better chance than this to see it through.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “I… I need to call in that favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got round to updating, well done me ;)
> 
> Thinking this'll be four chapters in total. Honestly no saying how long that'll take me but thanks to everyone who's left kudos so far!


	3. Chapter 3

Alfredo spends the entire night, and the next day, in a kind of waking coma. Telling his grandma had been the worst, her face when he tried his best to explain through his tears - the way she had held him like she hadn’t done since he was a small child and promised everything was going to be okay.

“ _We will sort this out_ ,” she had promised him that night. She was planning to let his Uncle know - expecting the family to exact revenge on those who had taken one member from them.

“ _You can’t,_ ” Alfredo had begged, quickly explaining, “ _I mean, not yet. Please. I’m gonna sort it out. I’ve got people who will help me sort it out, but in a way where we won’t be risking the lives of anyone else in the crew. Denny loved the crew, lived for them, he wouldn’t want anyone else dying. These Russian guys, Grandma… they won’t stop at nothing._ ” He didn’t tell her that these ‘people’ were in fact The Fakes, didn’t tell her that they’d been the ones - Michael, anyway - to come down to the warehouse and help take his brother’s body to a safe place.

That wasn’t the first thing that had crossed her mind anyway. “ _And what about you? What if you get hurt? Or killed? I’ve just lost one baby boy, I’m not losing another._ ”

“ _He was my brother,_ ” Alfredo had said. “ _Your son’s son. He was family. I have to do this. I got no choice._ ”

His grandma’s face had crumpled. “ _I… you…_ ” was her very distressed response. She’d wrapped her arms around him then, so tight his still healing ribs screamed. He didn’t stop her though. That first night as just the two of them, she needed him, and he needed her, more than ever.

* * *

Today Alfredo’s having a full-blown nervous breakdown on the bus. Honestly, it’s overdue. When he’d first called the number Michael had given him - basically pleading with him to help, in such a state he’s surprised the older man could even work out what was going on, he’d nevertheless still been functioning in auto-drive and was just reacting first before truly thinking anything through. It was a handy skill to have, for example in some combat situations. But it hardly gave Alfredo time to truly process what he was doing and _who_ he was calling. Not allowing him to prepare mentally for what was ahead.

“When you get in ask for Lil J, nothing else,” Michael had told him the other night after giving him directions to an auto-repair shop on the other side of town.

Alfredo had simply nodded.

“It’ll just be me and a few of the guys,” Michael had told him next.

Alfredo had nodded again, sitting silently in the car, trying desperately not to think of his brother’s lifeless face, but finding it was the only thing on his mind.

He’s pretty sure Michael said some other stuff to him, but it can’t have been all that important otherwise he would have paid more attention and remembered.

Only now, nearly ready to get off at his stop, did he take in what had been said to him. _Lil J?_ Who the fuck was that? Had he met him before? Was he one of the Fakes? And a few of the guys? _Shit._ Hadn’t Michael only been telling him the other night that they were in some trouble of their own? Something far bigger and deadlier than Alfredo could ever imagine. Why on earth would they all be there?

He continues his quiet panicking as he hops off the bus and walks the ten minutes to the auto-repair. Walking in, he recognizes it as a chop shop straight away - not one he’s ever used before, but he knows the signs to look for.

The man in what passes for an office gives him a hard glare as he walks in, but other than that says nothing.

“I uh… I’m here to see Lil J,” Alfredo says, trying to hide his nervousness.

The man still says not a word, but he immediately walks out of the room and Alfredo assumes he’s meant to follow. He’s taken round to the back and is pointed to a chipped white door. The man leaves him then.

Alfredo approaches the door and gives it a gentle push. The door cracks open and Alfredo peers through, searching the dark room for any sign of life.

He steps in and tries to find a light switch.

He doesn’t get very far. Just as soon as he’s got both feet through the door he’s jumped by a pair of extremely strong arms and forced to his knees, a hood forced over his head before he has a chance to cry out. His heart rate quickens. It’s not the first time he’s had a bag over his head, but it’s definitely the scariest. The lights turn on, and he can make out the silhouettes in front of him, three of them and then the guy who’s almost choking him to death.

He’s frozen. There’s no wriggling his way out of this one. A hand pats him down, checking for something, he assumes.

There’s motion by his right ear and then a voice is talking to him, harsh, threatening.

“Who are you?” it hisses, and Alfredo’s muscles tighten up.

“Nothing. I’m nobody. I’m just a soldier.”

The fingers clench around the back of his neck and he wonders what response they were hoping for. “A soldier for who?”

“My family. My crew.”

“What do you want with The Fakes?”

“Help. That’s all. I just need help.”

The grip on him loosens, ever so slightly. He might not be dead.

“He’s clean. What d’you think?” the voice asks, more normal sounding now.

The pause seems to last forever.

“I trust him enough,” someone eventually responds, and to Alfredo’s utmost relief he his released without another word.

It takes his eyes a moment to adjust as the bag is taken from his head, but the second they do at least it’s the closest thing to a friendly face that he see’s.

“I told you guys he was cool,” Michael is saying as he offers Alfredo a hand up.

“And I’m the one who’s kept your asses alive all these years.”

That voice… it belongs to a man with dark hair, older than the rest, dressed all in black except for the gold emblem on his hat. Alfredo thinks they’ve met…

_Are you the monkey from before?_

“I’m sorry,” Michael cuts through his thoughts. “Everyone’s just on edge a bit with all that’s been going on.” A guilty expression passes his face. “I guess you are too, shit, forgive us?”

Alfredo hums a response - it’s all been a bit mind-frying, he doesn’t know whether to be angry or confused or worried or annoyed at himself - because, let’s be real, who was he to expect to just come waltzing into the presence of a crew like this. Of course they were going to be on edge. Of course they weren’t going to blindly trust some outsider.

He blames Michael. The dude’s too friendly and normal that he’s almost made Alfredo forget who the fuck he’s dealing with.

They gather around in what passes for a room. Now the lights are on he can see there’s not much in here, just a few old wooden chairs and table, with tools piled high on shelves at the side.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says again, first off. “I should have done a better job convincing these idiots you weren’t some sort of super spy.”

“Yeah, Michael, you bloody should’ve.” The one Alfredo recognizes as Gavin throws himself into a chair and swings his legs up onto the table. “You’re the one who had some bonding time with him and you couldn’t even tell us enough to make him sound legit.” He glances over at Alfredo with a smirk. “If you want, we could tie up Michael and interrogate him for a while. How about it?”

“Oh and you would know all about that,” Michael mutters back, bringing out a loud groan from the shortest, the one who’d initially jumped Alfredo. He doesn’t seem nearly as threatening now. He’s young, strong - clearly, and looks intimidating with his shaved head and beard, but it was hard to find someone so scary when they were busy getting flustered.

“ _Really guys_?” he’s chastising the other two. “I will body slam you through this table.”

Alfredo hesitates from sitting down just in case he was being serious. What was happening he almost couldn’t comprehend, all the ways he’d imagined this meeting might go down, he didn’t expect to be listening to them arguing like a bunch of little kids at the start. Deciding it’s safe enough, quietly, he takes his seat in the one offered to him, not wanting to do anything that could get him in trouble. More trouble, anyway.

The oldest, and who Alfredo assumes is in charge, has been standing against the wall in silence. When the other three have finally finished bickering and he looks up, his face is unreadable.

“Tell me your name,” he whispers finally.

“Alfredo Diaz, Mr… Sir,” Alfredo says, ignoring the sniggers from the other three, meeting the older man dead in the eye.

“And what do you want our help for?”

Alfredo glances towards Michael. The other man nods in reassurance and so he answers truthfully. “I _need_ your help, Sir. My brother’s been killed by another crew, for no good reason. They’re bigger than us, more powerful. You’re my best chance. It’s true I have my own crew, and they’ll be wanting revenge when they find out. My brother, Denny, he’s given - he _gave_ his life for them. But I can’t let them know, not yet –”

“Why can’t you tell them?” the man asks, demanding.

“I can’t. My crew. They’re loyal and good at what they do, but we’re not ready for a war, not against these people… but they won’t listen _to me_. I know that without even trying. And I know that if we tried to take them on, we - many would die. Just kids, Sir, most of them are just kids. All that’s left of the last street war, about fifteen years ago.”

The man looks away, jaw clenching. After a moment his face softens into something less domineering.

“Well if _you’re_ calling them kids, they must be young,” he says quietly. “And a promise is a promise.” He looks to Michael when he says that. Michael pulls a face, lifts both arms up in a wide shrug.

It was a relief. It was hope. But Alfredo still has one more card to play.

“I know this isn’t your fight. And there’s… there’s other things you’d rather be focusing on. That’s why I didn’t come here empty-handed. I know something that might be of interest to you. Might be nothing, but it’s definitely something. Could be worth checking it out, is all I thought.”

The leader steadies his gaze at him, eyes narrowing slowly in curiosity.

“Go ahead,” he says with a kind of ferociousness. “Stop tiptoeing around. Spit it out.”

“Landown factories.” And he tells them everything he and Angel had picked up on recently. Landown factories, a place that mainly produced pipes - a place that had been in a steady decline for years - had taken a sudden upturn. “We just assumed maybe business had picked up for them. But the trucks, I noticed that. The trucks aren’t right. They used to be flatbeds, open topped so you could see what they were carrying, usually it was just pipes,actually that’s all I ever saw come outta there, but now… now they’ve changed to box trucks - and I don’t know much about cargo or transport or whatever but I know that ain’t how you transport pipes.”

The man considers this information carefully, regarding Alfredo with cool blue eyes. “So what you’re saying…”

“Same company but all of a sudden the trucks have changed.”

“So whatever they’re transporting isn’t what they say they’re producing.”

Alfredo nods. “I guessed that there must be something dodgy going on, I mean, in this fucking city it’s nothing new. I asked the guy who runs that corner - just seeming curious, y’know - I asked him if the place was still busy.” They all stare at him expectantly, a hunger in their eyes, hanging off his every word. “He told me yes, except for one day when it was completely dead.”

“What day was that?” The man is leaning forward off the wall now, fully invested.

Alfredo takes a deep breath and tells them. “The day after you guys stole a couple million dollars.”

The reaction is instant. The man moving with a purpose. The other three are huddled close, hurriedly whispering. “I need to make a call,” the leader says to the room, marching on his way. “You didn’t have to tell us that,” he says quietly, pausing by Alfredo’s chair.

Alfredo shifts in his seat. “I know but…” He glances up into the man’s eyes. “It felt like the right thing to do,” he answers truthfully.

“Then you have our help, in whatever form you require,” he says, tone a lot warmer now. “Name’s Geoff by the way. Geoff, Jeremy, Gavin, Michael, so we’re clear.”

Alfredo looks to the others who gesture back in their own way. Jeremy nods. Gavin gives a half smile. Michael salutes. “Thank you,” he says to them all. “I - I’m uh not sure what form I require?”

“We’ll figure it out as we go along,” Michael tells him, and Gavin holds his arms open wide.

“I think you’ll find we invented the term ‘winging it’,” he says.

“I hate you,” the one he now knows as Jeremy grumbles, but Gavin only laughs and wraps his arm tightly around the smaller man’s neck. 

* * *

Michael surprises him with breakfast the next morning. It’s certainly something to open the door of your childhood home to see a member of The Fakes standing there with pastries - Alfredo has to blink a few times to check he’s awake. Or hallucinating. He’s barely slept a wink since Denny’s murder, it wouldn’t be surprising. He stumbles out of the door five minutes later and Michael hands him his share of the food, a grin on his face. He’s wearing a leather jacket - which is strange for two reasons (it’s fucking hot and Alfredo’s never owned a jacket like that, let alone worn one). But mainly because it hangs weirdly, like it’s a couple sizes too big. Michael seems happy enough in it though, and Alfredo doesn’t think it’s his places to question the guy’s fashion choices.

Not when all this had been made possible because of Michael. It’s _unheard of_. Going out of your way to help the member of another crew, no matter how small. Just a tiny speck on his radar.

“You ready?” Michael asks brightly.

Alfredo tenses a little inside. Not in a completely bad way. It feels good to be doing something, even if that something is just meeting up with the others to discuss the next plan of action.

“Yeah,” he replies, brushing his hair back. He’s pretty sure he’s looked better. Not that it matters.

“Y’know, you might’ve been the lucky break we needed,” Michael says, through a mouthful of croissant. The sun is shining and his cheeks are rosy, and he looks like any normal dude taking a morning stroll. “We had someone look into that little tip you gave us. It proved more than fruitful, but more on that later.”

Alfredo is glad that he’s been of some help. It’s not what’s at the forefront of his mind, however.

“Oh cool… by the way, how did you know where I lived?” he asks. “Did uh… did Gavin track me down or something?”

“No, nothing so extreme.” Michael laughs, taking a sudden turn down an alleyway and Alfredo stumbles a little, blindly following him. “I had to make sure you made it home safely, didn’t I?”

“So you followed me. That was quite a way.” Alfredo’s not sure if he’s more amazed that Michael actually tracked him across the city or concerned that he hadn’t even noticed it. The way they’d left things the other day, he had been kind of wondering what they expected him to do next. All they’d said was for him to go home and they’d be in contact within forty-eight hours. He hadn’t been about to demand quicker action.

“Thanks for sorting out the other thing… with my brother,” Alfredo says, as Michael aims and throws his empty paper bag perfect into a nearby trash can. While not wanting to alert the rest of the crew yet to his brother’s death, he couldn’t exactly just leave Denny lying around. Not only was that absolutely disrespectful, it was impractical for more than obvious reasons. Michael knew a guy who was taking care of things for now.

Michael smiles sympathetically.

“How’s your grandma?” he asks.

“Like you’d expect.”

“You’re really close to her,” he murmurs, watching him closely. He has a habit of doing that, Alfredo has noticed. He’s known him less than a week but it feels like whenever they’re together the older man is always regarding intently him in some way.

“We both were. She was a mom _and dad_ to us,” Alfredo says. “Despite everything we were pretty spoiled kids. Though if we ever acted up around her there’d be hell to pay.”

He slips his leftover food into his pocket even though it immediately begins to squish. He doesn’t have much of an appetite recently but he doesn’t want to be rude and chuck it away in front of Michael.

“I have to do this for her more than anyone,” he declares, fists clenching and eyes hardening.

Michael catches him off guard as he gently shoulder nudges him. Alfredo looks to him and finds the other man meeting his gaze, the morning sunlight reflecting off his glasses. He doesn’t say anything but gives a short nod before his eyes dart away almost shyly, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket.

Alfredo thinks Michael understands. 

“He’s gonna kill you, y’know?” a familiar voice calls, and they glance over to see Gavin hovering nearby, standing outside an uninteresting, graffiti-covered metal door. He looks like he hasn’t slept much either, his hair sticking up in all directions, a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses sat on top.

“No he won’t, he let me have it,” Michael replies smugly, sticking out a playful hand to push Gavin’s head as he opens the door.

Gavin eyes him with surprise, then looks at Alfredo, who stares back at him wide-eyed. _He still doesn’t know what to make of me_ , he thinks. He can’t blame Gavin for being wary still, honestly. He’d been pleasant enough the other day - or at least relaxed enough to banter a bit with Michael and Jeremy - but he was nowhere near as open with Alfredo as Michael had been, none of them were; it’s not surprising, you didn’t last as long as they had by trusting easily.

But when Alfredo hesitates before following Michael inside, Gavin tilts his head to the side and gestures him in. He smiles slightly.

“Hi,” Alfredo says, his awkwardness now commonplace around anyone who wasn’t Michael. “I hope I’m not gonna be jumped again.”

Gavin glances to him in amusement, before checking the street as he pulls the door shut behind them, and then nods again for Alfredo to follow Michael. He heads down the dark, narrow passage past a number of open doorways where the smell of seafood drifts out - they were in the basement of some restaurant, Alfredo guesses, it would explain why it was so cold, makes sense why Michael might have wanted that jacket too. He catches up with Michael as the other man is opening another door, and his eyes struggle to adjust at the sudden bright lights glaring at him.

The first thing he notices is the number of people already in there. More than last time, talking quietly amongst themselves, although they stop the moment the door opens and they spy Alfredo standing there, like a deer in headlights, not even his previous meeting preparing him for this.

_Ah well. There’s definitely no going back now,_ Alfredo thinks.

* * *

He’s introduced to the others straight away this time.

Jack and Ryan, two men who couldn’t seem further apart. Jack is wearing a bright t-shirt and shorts; bearded with black rimmed glasses and a big disarming smile on his face the moment they walk in. Ryan, on the other hand, is silent and stoic, dressed all in black, barely acknowledging the new company. Alfredo’s almost positive it’s him who tripped him up coming out of the tunnel from the hotel, just has an uncanny feeling.

Michael sticks close by like his guard dog, but not before he quickly bounds over to Ryan and takes the leather jacket off, placing it over the man’s shoulders and whispering something in his ear before returning to Alfredo’s side. A strange look passes across Ryan’s face and Alfredo catches the glint in Michael’s eyes - he’s going to assume the jacket actually belonged to Ryan. It would explain the size and the brief conversation Michael had with Gavin - makes sense but also doesn’t, because he would have thought Michael had borrowed the jacket for the cold room, giving it back now implies… He stops thinking about it as Geoff chucks some photos onto the center table.

“This is what Treyc’s captured last night,” he begins, all business, getting straight to the point and he looks to Alfredo somewhat pleased. “That tip you gave us proved to be our silver lining in all of this bullshit.” He brings one photo to the forefront, a man in a suit talking on his phone.

“That’s Hanson Stanley,” Gavin says right off the bat.

Geoff nods. “I wondered if you’d remember him.”

Gavin gives a short laugh. “How could I forget that arsehole?”

The leader smirks in agreement. “Stanley is something of a benefactor for organized crime. Back when he approached me and Gav, about thirteen years ago now, he mainly dealt in smaller scale operations,” Geoff informs the rest of them. “I sent him on his way. Didn’t like him then. Like him even less now. As for these other guys, I don’t have the first clue, whoever they are, they’re not from around here. Stanley,” he taps a finger on the photo. “He’s our best lead at the moment. _Yes_ , Ryan?”

“Where is he?” is all Ryan asks, and is already heading towards the door like he’s ready to leave that second as Geoff watches and rolls his eyes.

“Once we’ve finished talking over everything and decided on a proper course of action,” he says, as Ryan stands there glaring at the door as if he’s ready to blow it to pieces to get out. “Then as we all know, our Trevor didn’t just go for some sightseeing. Last time I checked the tracker on his car pointed Stanley in the Valencia West location.”

“And I’ll get onto the security cams in no time. See if I can’t pinpoint exactly where he is,” Gavin adds.

They descend into fast conversation after that. All of them talking although somehow never over each other, chiming in during split-second pauses with questions, doubts, ideas, that makes Alfredo realize that this is what good looked like. Not just the ability to pull off a heist without dying or getting your ass landed in jail – as well as having a unique set of specific skills – but listening to and watching them now, just talking, he got the feel for just how well they knew each other. It was like a well-oiled machine, seamless and without effort.

Somehow it was the first thing that made sense to him in a while.

* * *

“I don’t like it,” Ryan growls, as he sits in the back of the moving van flipping a fucking _knife_ up and down right in front of Alfredo’s face with an expression that warned he could ‘accidentally’ slip up at any moment and send it flying into Alfredo’s face.

Jeremy’s beside him, and he brushes off Ryan’s words with an exasperated sigh.

“So you’ve said a hundred times already,” he declares. “Get over it!”

Ryan still doesn’t look convinced.

“Well I’m sorry I’m the only one apparently concerned about trusting some corner kid to get the job done,” he mumbles not so quietly, wincing suddenly as Michael sends a foot his way. Alfredo hunches down in his seat as Michael rises to his defense.

“He’s the only one who can safely get close without raising any suspicion. We can’t risk getting caught out if we send in one of us or anyone affiliated with us. We don’t know what they know. More than we already counted on, apparently. So shut up and focus on your own thing,” he says sternly.

“Okay, okay, I don’t need a lecture,” Ryan grumbles, folding his arms. “And you can stop looking like a kicked puppy all the time,” he directs the complaint to Alfredo.

Alfredo narrows his eyes, unaware Ryan had been paying such close attention to him when _all_ he seemed to have done for the past twenty minutes is complain about him as if he weren’t there to Jeremy and Michael. It’s not like Alfredo’s exactly happy about the plan either, but he wasn’t about to complain. Geoff had asked him to do this one thing before they helped him out and he could hardly say no. It could be the difference between winning or losing for them and all it required of Alfredo was to sit and listen, as well as a free meal in a restaurant he would never have set foot in otherwise.

Honestly he’s not so much nervous about the whole spying thing, more how the hell was he supposed to act in a fancy ass restaurant like El Submarino? He knew it was kind of dumb and a little stereotypical on his part, but he was almost certain everybody in there would spot that he didn’t _belong_ straightaway. And he’s never _considered_ himself much of an actor, but fuck, he was going to have to just give it his best shot -he remembers how he was supposed to act whenever his father’s bosses came over for food and decides he’ll use that as a base. How he had to be hyper-aware of his actions when there were more important people around.

Ryan clearly doesn’t like him. And he’s barely had any interaction more than eye contact with anyone else other than Michael or Gavin, the latter currently being in a separate van so he could use the equipment in there to monitor all the local surveillance. He’s not there to make friends, though - he has to remind himself. As much as he had become part of their plan, they were part of his. Do his part right and they’d be more than happy to deal with his brother’s murderers in a way that would prevent any more killings of his own crew.

The van pulls to a stop. Jeremy and Ryan exit first and he follows. The first thing he’s greeted with, or rather person, is Gavin, and he actually looks more than happy for once. He’s standing in front of him, sunglasses now over his eyes, with a big grin, holding a box in one hand and a bag in the other - objects that Michael takes one look at before he’s sighing, chuckling a little at the other man.

“Don’t tell me that was what our detour was for.”

Gavin ignores him. Instead, he holds the stuff up to Alfredo. “I had to guess on the dimensions but I reckon I got it right. I’ve dressed these lot enough to get decent. There was only one thing I couldn’t decide on…”

He shoves the bag into Michael’s hands and opens up the box, holding up the contents to a very confused Alfredo.

He grins again. “Are you more of a tie or bowtie guy?”

* * *

“All right kid, remember you’re just like every other rich, business asshole in here, grabbing lunch before you go back to ripping off people in your shiny office,” Geoff tries to reassure him over his earpiece, as he and the rest of them sit in the vans around the corner from the restaurant. They hadn’t bothered with a hidden piece, it wasn’t like it would be uncommon in a place like this. And what a place it was with it’s hanging chandeliers and miniature waterfall making up one wall - nothing about it sits right with Alfredo but he supposes that was what the ‘disguise’ is for. After much indecisiveness on his part, Gavin had chosen the tie for him. A classic.

Alfredo waits until he’s approached by a young man who asks if he has a preference of where he’d like to sit. “Umm…”

“They’re at the front facing window,” Gavin’s hissing in his ear.

“Right,” he blurts out, he already knew that, and the host glances at him in surprise. Alfredo grits his teeth, trying to keep his cool. They’d walked him through everything, it wouldn’t do well to trip at the first hurdle. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere for a second. Anywhere over there will be fine,” he gestures towards the tables just behind the window booths. “That way I can keep an eye out in case my buddies come looking for me. I escaped early, you see.”

The man laughs. “Of course, Sir. Please, allow me to escort you to your seat.”

“What for? It’s not like you’re bloody blind, are you?” Gavin’s muttering in his ear. Meanwhile Alfredo’s still slightly reeling from being addressed to as ‘Sir’.

“Nice recovery by the way.”

“Thank you,” Alfredo says out loud, responding to both Gavin and the host who’s stopped at an empty table.

Another man takes his drink order. After, Alfredo glances around. There had only been two tables available for where he’d requested. Luckily he’s not too far from the targets, he can just about hear if he concentrates hard, not that he’s gonna have to be relying on his ears. He shifts in his seat. His tie feels too tight, his suit uncomfortable and stiff.

“Go for it as soon as you can.” Geoff again.

“I got it,” Alfredo says, taking the coin out of his pocket and spinning it idly in front of him. He waits a bit until his drink is brought to him before making his move.

He allows the coin to slip away. As it drifts in the direction of the booth next Stanley and the other mystery man, he slowly stands up and strolls over, on the outside remaining calm even though his heart is thudding through his chest.

“Where’d it go?” he mutters for effect, even though he’s sure they’re not paying attention to him.

As he leans down to grab the coin he overhears a snippet of the conversation. “I don’t care how many men it’ll take. We want it all gone by tonight.”

He stands up, coin in hand, and returns to his own table - the men are none the wiser.

“Did you place it?” Gavin asks.

“Yep.”

“Is it working?”

Alfredo sits back down. After a second he confirms. “It’s good.”

“Cool, we’ll shut up for now. Give us a shout if you need us.”

That had been a lot easier and quicker than he’d expected. Maybe he was cut out for the life of a high-end criminal after all. Then again, it wasn’t like it had been hard - the little bug he’d pinned into the top of the seat was so small it was almost invisible. A fairly old design, and it only had a range of about twenty feet, but it was the best Gavin could get at short notice. That was why they’d gone radio silent. And now all he has to do is sit and listen, pay attention to every detail, report back everything he’d heard, even if he thought it wasn’t important he was to memorize it, Ryan had made sure to remind him over and over…

Right now they’re talking about moving something. There’s nothing much to gain, seeing as they’re just arguing at the moment - then again that could be important. _They don’t exactly seem close._

Maybe it’s less arguing and more one berating the other. Stanley, the one from the photo, the round, bald man in the expensive suit doesn’t seem to have much of a say in anything. The other man, with skin so white he’s almost reflective, and a dark pointed beard that looks like it belongs on a Disney villain, is basically ordering him around. It’s obvious who’s in charge here.

“I just think we should think before moving so much so soon. Too much traffic might raise suspicion,” Stanley says hesitantly, and the other man sneers at him, dark beady eyes narrowing. He doesn’t respect Stanley, that’s clear - _could he be the one behind all this? I dunno, he doesn’t seem like quite the right fit._ _A second in command, maybe?_

He continues listening as his food is delivered, only briefly fazed by the unexpected oysters.

“I don’t know how to eat these,” he whispers - hears the mix of sighs and giggles, and his cheeks heat.

“Then don’t fucking. Eat. Them.” Right. Ryan was right.

And scary.

“Are you really telling me you can’t do this, Hanson?” the man challenges. “Because I can tell the boss. I’m sure he can find someone else. Someone else more capable.”

“Really,” Stanley says flatly.

“Really,” the man replies firmly. “Remember you’re with us purely out of respect for the initial help you provided us with. But now we don’t need that help anymore, remember? We’re the ones with the money. We’re the ones with control. We’ve got more than enough power over you.”

Stanley’s quiet for a long moment, but when he speaks again there’s a resigned tone to his voice.

“Of course I can get it done,” he says, and sighs. “I’m the only one who can get the fucking job done.”

The other man laughs.

“I assume you have the photos. I’ll need them for my guys to know what they’re to prepare for.”

Alfredo stiffens as the man pulls something out from his suit jacket pocket. The two men are silent as he pushes them across the table.

“They’re looking at photos, guys,” he whispers.

“Shit, I can’t see that clearly from here,” Gavin’s muttering is slightly frantic. He can hear the others talking in the background, their frustration clear. They were so close yet so far.

_C’mon, just say something… anything to give me a clue._

Still nothing. Stanley is just writing something down and Alfredo senses his window of opportunity is fast closing.

_Well… it’s not your fault. You’ve done exactly as they said…_

Stanley’s finished writing. The other man is reaching his hand out.

_Fuck it._

A barrage of “What the fuck are you doing?” and “Get back down you idiot!” meets his ears as he stands up and rushes over to the table, planting a big grin on his face. He makes sure to take his drink with him for good measure.

“Hey!” he greets the two, slamming one hand down on the table, conveniently on top of the photos. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but aren’t you Tom’s brother?” he asks, addressing Stanley. “You are aren’t you? Hey, do you remember me, man?”

“Who is this?”

Alfredo’s not looking at the other man but he can hear the threat in his voice and feel the tension pulling under his hand. Stanley, on the other hand, is merely perplexed.

“I uh… I don’t know, you must be mistaken, buddy.”

“Nah, really?” Alfredo laughs and leans forward onto the table, resting his arms between the two and uses his drink to gesture somewhat at Stanley’s face. “You look the spitting image. You’re not just messing with me, are you Charlie man? That’s right, ain’t it?” He lets out another loud laugh. “Remember me and Tom played football together in college, and you - you came to every game, I swear, you were some kind of mascot.”

“I think uh…”

Suddenly there’s a pain in his right arm and he turns eventually to see a pair of ferocious eyes glaring him down. “He’s clearly not the same person. I would ask if you kindly leave,” the man demands, fingers digging deeper into Alfredo’s arm.

“Oh yeah, sorry, man. Right… uh, like I said, spitting image,” he mumbles, feigning embarrassment, not having to fake the slight nervousness. “I’ll leave you two gents to your meal. Apologies again.”

As he turns his back on the two and makes his way back to his table, there’s a hell of a commotion in his ear. “What the hell was that?” Geoff hisses while at the same time Ryan is asking, “Did you get anything?”

He allows himself to smile. “Hell yeah I did.”

In his efforts to keep the photos on the table in sight, he’d had to partially cover them, and all in all the interaction had been no longer than a minute.

But he hadn’t needed long anyway. He’d known exactly what he was looking at.

* * *

“How’re the bruises?” Michael asks.

He’s sitting with Gavin when Alfredo joins them in the living room. They’re at an old safe house of theirs in the hope that it was one of the places that hadn’t been compromised. The only other place they were certain of being safe was their main base, but wherever that was they didn’t want Alfredo going there, and that was cool. Michael and Gavin look comfortable; the two of them curled up on the couch watching the small TV. The couch is so small that they’re almost on top of each other. Neither seems to mind.

“Very purple and very yellow,” Alfredo replies. The bruises he’d sustained from his scrap back at The Rusty had finally come out full force, but he hadn’t really checked on them until they’d arrived at the new location and he went to the bathroom to change out of the suit, a brief rest stop before things escalated once more. Gavin squirms beside Michael, shifting to look up at Alfredo.

“You could ask Ryan to look at them,” he suggests. “He’s not half bad with that stuff. The best we got when there’s no medic close by.”

“It’s alright. It’s nothing, really,” Alfredo insists, mildly terrified at the idea of asking the intimidating man for anything.

“I told you, kid’s tougher than he looks,” Michael says, elbowing the other man in the side. “Tough _and smart._ Now that is a rare combination to have amongst us lot. You better watch yourself, Gav, Geoff’s been talking about getting some new blood in.”

“Ha, no one can replace me,” Gavin retorts, giving Michael a strange smile. “You know that.”

“I’m sure Jeremy would try,” he says, returning the same strange smirk. He glances at Alfredo, who’s watching curiously in silence, before laughing and slapping the arm of the couch. “Please, take a seat.”

Alfredo pauses and looks about him. Michael watches him, eyes crinkling, and he slaps the arm again.

“Yep, ‘fraid there’s not much of a choice for seats in this shit-hole.”

Alfredo just blinks, staring uncertainly at Michael’s hand. He knows Michael’s a friendly guy, but it still seems a bit weird to be offered a seat that’s practically in his lap when the two are clearly enjoying each others company fine enough, and he’s so unsure of what to do that he kind of just freezes to the spot and continues to stare dumbly at Michael.

Wrong move. Michael gets up and walks over to him and then suddenly he’s being dragged around to the front of the couch, being pushed into the space Michael had previously occupied, squashed right up next to Gavin. The smaller man looks to him and gives a faint smile. From his new position Alfredo can feel the warmth coming from him, more than he would expect for a skinny guy he is.

Michael’s now sat on the arm instead, gently swinging one leg back and forth, leaning back and reaching an arm behind Alfredo to rest his hand behind Gavin’s head, flicking the dark blond hair. Gavin looks up and smiles at him too.

“Relax, kid. We’re not gonna eat you,” Michael teases, once they’ve settled into a comfortable silence. Or at least he and Gavin have - Alfredo’s never considered more than now that this whole thing was just a dream. Perhaps the last twenty years had all been a dream and he’d wake up as a seven-year-old again who’s biggest worry was what vegetable his grandma would make him eat that night.

“You guys aren’t what I expected,” Alfredo says after a moment, the TV being flicked from one channel to another by Gavin.

“Disappointed?” Gavin asks, and Alfredo looks down, self-conscious.

Michael gives him a nudge with his foot and he tilts his mouth up into a grin.

“Don’t worry, this must be really strange to you. Hell of an introduction,” he says.

That’s the moment that Alfredo realizes that both Michael and Gavin would have been in his place once. Not in the same circumstances. However they ended up here was unique to the both of them. But Alfredo isn’t joining. He’s just kind of being allowed along for the ride for a bit. Still, imaging the other two in a position not too dissimilar to him at one point is somewhat eye-opening. Getting so close to another in their line of work is a big deal.

“Whatever happens, I just want to make one thing clear,” Gavin begins, regarding Alfredo’s curious look. “I’m glad to have met you. Seriously,” he adds, “wish it could’ve been under better circumstances and I know I can come off a bit…”

“Of a dickhead.”

Gavin glares at Michael. “ _Aloof_ ,” he says. “But you’re a good guy. I know that now. Kinda hard to come by in our world.”

“I told him the same thing,” Michael cuts in. “Back in The Rusty. During our little heart-to-heart, surprised myself getting so sappy so quickly. That’s your fault, y’know.”

“My fault?” Alfredo asks, and his lips twist wryly, an unfamiliar feeling in his chest. “Now what have I done wrong?”

Michael raises an eyebrow.

“Seriously? You really don’t know, do you?” he continues, and both he and Gavin chuckle a bit.

Alfredo tilts his head. He has no idea where they’re going with this.

“Let me give you an example,” Michael says. “Gavin, phone.”

“Wh– ”

“Your screen’s better than mine.”

Alfredo switches his gaze between the two, still oblivious as to what was so amusing.

“Give me a sec,” Michael says under his breath. “Right, here we go.” He holds Gavin’s phone up, flipping it around in front of Alfredo’s face. “What do you see here?”

“Uh… a wolf?” Alfredo squints at the photo, and Michael nods. “He’s growling.”

“Precisely! He’s a big, bad, scary wolf who’s ready to rip your face off the minute you turn your back,” Michael cries, and holds it up for Gavin to see too.

“That’s not that scary, Michael…”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re on my side here.”

Alfredo frowns. This wasn’t exactly explaining anything.

“Now take a look at this one,” Michael continues. “What’s the difference between this one and the other one?”

Alfredo looks at the phone again. “It’s a puppy,” he says.

“And?” Michael pesters.

“And it’s like a Labrador or something and it’s not growling and it looks cute,” he replies, and Michael looks at him, something satisfied filling his expression.

“It looks innocent,” he says, and Alfredo stares at him, and then turns his head to do the same to Gavin. There’s another moment of silence. Gavin’s pulling a face at Michael; some small joke being shared between them, he’s guessing.

“Nice Lindsay explanation, Michael,” he says, soft and fond. “She’s rubbing off on you too much. What he means is this, Alfredo - out of the two, which one would you prefer to go up and pet? The puppy, right? It makes sense cause you know your hand’s not gonna get bitten off - nibbled a little, maybe, but you know it’s only playing. It hasn’t got any real viciousness in it. Wolves on the other hand, they’re unpredictable, wild. Geoff always says this city is filled with wolves, and it’s hard to get close to a wolf without years of trust.”

“Okay,” Alfredo eventually has to butt in. “I’m sorry but you two completely lost me about two pictures of animals ago. Am I being really dumb or something?”

“Let me put this really simply, Alfredo,” Michael says, scoffing out a humorous laugh. “Wolf equals almost everyone else in this city we run into. Puppy equals you.”

Oh.

Alfredo doesn’t know what to say.

_Should I be offended by that?_

“Aww, look at this one, Gav,” Michael adds. “We should get one like this. It can take Ryan for walks when he gets cranky.”

“I prefer cats.”

They seem unaware just how awkwardly Alfredo is sitting there. So they were just going to brush over what they’d just said? Huh. Now they’re more interested in debating the pros and cons to puppies and kittens.

All of a sudden memory completely catches him off guard, and he’s unable to stop the sharp breath in he takes.

Michael and Gavin stop their bantering immediately.

“You okay?” Michael asks in concern.

Alfredo can’t offer much in response besides a short shrug of his shoulders. He’s afraid to even open his mouth.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Michael says earnestly. “Did we fuck up somehow?”

“No,” he manages to croak out, and clears his throat before shaking his head. “That just made me think of something. It’s stupid.”

There’s a warmth on his shoulder, and it’s Gavin’s hand that’s there. The touch is reassuring and Gavin’s green eyes are kind, a form of understanding that raises the hairs on the back of his neck.

He swallows. His throat thick, tongue heavy.

“Pups,” Alfredo whispers. “S’just what my dad used to call me and my brother when we were small,” he rushes out quietly.

It’s gone quiet again.

Gavin just nods, and moves closer. Alfredo feels sick. There’s so many emotions floating around in his head, he doesn’t even know where to begin - and despite all that’s going on and how exciting it kind of is, to be truthful he’d rather be at home. He’d rather be with his grandma.

Everything just sort of… sucks.

He can see the other two are sorry for bringing it up. But it’s not their fault. And they surprise him by not leaving, instead wrapping an arm each around his shoulders.

He might not know them very well, but he understands a little about what they meant earlier. For Alfredo, for whatever reason, trusting these guys felt easy. Natural. It’s something special that he’s only ever felt with very few people. Maybe it’s him imagining things at this fragile time. But he doesn’t care, it feels real enough right now.

Either way, he doesn’t move away. And neither do Michael or Gavin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied before. Now I think there's gonna be two more chapters ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Walking down the hallway he feels both weirded out and strangely at peace. It’s like he’s just had an outer body experience with Michael and Gavin there to offer comfort.

He needed to head out once he’d finally calmed, wanted to call his grandma to let her know he was safe. That’s what he was going to do now. He’s left Michael and Gavin to themselves, gone to try and find a place he could talk in private. She was already doing so much more than he could ask of her and he didn’t like to think that she might be worrying unnecessarily when in fact he’s in one of the safest places he could be, in a safe house surrounded by the most renowned criminals in the city.

He spies a possible room with the door almost closed. It appears dark inside but when he pushes it open some more and see’s Jeremy and Ryan inside, he lurches back and freezes on the spot.

_Fuck,_ he thinks, still frozen as he waits to see if he’s called out.

Did he really just see what he thought he saw? It had been so quick that he barely registered anything - but he’d seen something. Not that it was any of his business. He’s just more worried that the two might not approve of him walking in on them like that. But it seems, to his good fortune, that neither noticed him and he’s free to leave and carry on like nothing’s happened.

“I think the kid’s scared of me,” has him pausing however. Ryan.

“You don’t think?” A sarcastic voice replies. Jeremy. “You always put on your grumpy old man face around him.”

Ryan makes a disgruntled sound, and Alfredo hears the old springs of the bed the two are sitting on creak. 

“I don’t have a grumpy face,” Ryan complains, and Jeremy snorts in reply.

“You have two faces. Grumpy and murderous. And if you give him your murderous look I’m pretty sure he’ll have nightmares for two weeks,” he says.

“I just don’t know what Geoff’s thinking, bringing on a kid like that,” the older man replies. “So he can handle himself in a spot of basic undercover work, Michael’s acting like he’s a prodigy, he’s still just a corner kid. He doesn’t know what he’s got himself into, and it could get him _killed_ if he’s not careful, or worse he could get us killed if we’re not careful.”

“Don’t you think you’re worrying now for the sake or worrying?” Jeremy asks, and takes a deep breath. It’s not right, Alfredo thinks. He shouldn’t still be here - this is a conversation not meant for him. Shit, he already felt like he overstepped the mark by seeing whatever he may or may not have seen and now he was listening in on this? He should leave now before they caught him for real, let them talk about him behind his back if they wanted to, he couldn’t care less.

But he doesn’t move just yet. Perhaps he’s too nervous to in case they hear his sudden footsteps. Or maybe his sense of self-preservation is so low that he’s willing to risk pissing these guys off just so he can listen to what they’re saying about him.

Also what was that Ryan had said? - The little thing, about him getting killed. He didn’t exactly know what the next plan of action was - was thinking he might be allowed home. He knew dying certainly wasn’t on his list however - and he thought he’d earned a little help himself by now. He’d done what they asked, he’d helped them, surely he wasn’t needed anymore. What more could he offer anyway?

It’s been all quiet in the room, almost silent were it not for the faint shuffling he could hear.

“When was the last time you slept?” Jeremy demands suddenly.

“Last night,” Ryan replies cautiously.

“Last night, huh?” the other man questions. “Last night when you sat up in the kitchen all night, last night?”

“Two nights ago then,” Ryan replies, not hesitating after being called out. He sounds unconcerned. “Now is hardly the time I’m gonna get a decent night’s sleep.”

“You could have come to me,” Jeremy adds. “Or one of the others. You know we care.”

There’s another moment of silence and then Alfredo hears one of them sigh.

“You’re not gonna push us away again, are you?”

“I’m not pushing you away,” Ryan lies. It sounds like a lie to Alfredo anyway - came out too rushed, too forced. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind - we all have, so don’t just single out me.”

“But you’re the only one who’s changed.”

“I don’t even know what you mean by that,” Ryan replies.

Alfredo hears Jeremy hum. Down the hallway, laughter comes from the living room, and both Alfredo and the two in the room seem to hold their breath for a second.

“This isn’t the Ryan I know, the Ryan I know doesn’t distance himself when things get tough, not unless… not unless he’s scared,” Jeremy continues after a moment. “But then that’s dumb because my Ryan knows by now that getting close to people isn’t a weakness or a liability - we survive because we stick together and go through whatever shit together.”

Go, Alfredo thinks. They’re not even talking about him anymore. Now he’s just being overly inquisitive.

“I don’t see you as a weakness,” Ryan rushes to answer, and Alfredo finds he can’t tear himself away. “Any of you, especially not you - _never_ you. It’s me who I’m worried about. I know what I can get like, who I can become when my back’s against the wall.”

“You’re so much more than that,” Jeremy says.

There’s a long silence.

“I’m not letting you go that easily,” Jeremy adds, and Alfredo hears the bed squeak again.

“I’m sorry,” the reply comes quickly now. “If I lose any of you –” he breaks off.

_Not so different after all_ , Alfredo thinks, heart pounding. The rushed whispers coming from the room are inaudible. There’s the occasional obvious sound, shockingly - rapid and sharp intakes of breath that makes Alfredo guess one of them is crying. Now he definitely feels like he’s overstepped the mark and takes it as his clue to fuck off and leave the two men to their privacy. He creeps silently away and looks around for a quick exit from the hallway, trying to remember which door they came in through.

“Want anything to eat or drink, Alfredo?” another voice asks suddenly.

Alfredo turns to Jack, surprised. The older man’s smiling brightly. With a cup of steaming coffee in his hand and a tea towel draped over his shoulder, you could have been forgiven for thinking they had all just come round to Jack’s for a friendly dinner.

“Uh no thank you, Mr Jack, Sir,” Alfredo splutters politely, still not quite over the conversation he’s just heard. He hasn’t had any time alone with Jack yet, but he already suspects ‘fearsome gang members’ don’t get much more friendly than the bearded man.

“Just Jack is fine,” the man replies with an amused smile. “Anything else I could help you with?” he continues, pleasantly. His face is honest and open, all kind eyes and friendly grin. “Michael and Gavin weren’t annoying you too much, were they? They tend to get excited when they meet someone new who they both like, it’s a compliment… just don’t be afraid to tell them to calm the fuck down if you need to. Trust me I know. I’ve witnessed them drive Ryan and Jeremy _crazy_ ,” he adds, amused. “Gavin especially likes to show his affection for people by going out of his way to pester them as much as possible!”

He’s not doing a very good job at sounding annoyed. He sounds fond more than anything.

“It’s okay Mr uh- I mean, Jack. They’re really nice,” Alfredo says in earnest.

“Well alright then,” Jack says, still beaming away. Alfredo doesn’t know if that’s his queue that he’s allowed to leave, but Jack is still looking at him, smiling, he thinks maybe the man is wanting to talk some more. And then he walks up to him and then past him, going into another room and tilting his head for Alfredo to follow.

“This is the only room you can get any natural light,” he says, taking a seat by the window of the otherwise empty room. “You grew up here then?” he asks randomly. “That must’ve been some childhood, I’m assuming. Even in Texas, we heard about the shit that went on here twenty, thirty years ago.”

“I guess, it was normal to me though,” Alfredo mumbles.

“All you ever knew,” Jack estimates. “But you seem to have grown up to be a polite and honorable young man. I think that says a lot about who you are.”

There’s something warm in his tone, and Alfredo looks to the floor self-consciously, only to quickly glance back up when Jack lets out a hearty chuckle.

_Safe_ , he thinks, a word he doesn’t normally associate with someone minutes after talking to them for the first time. But Jack is just so easygoing and good-natured that yeah… _you’re safe with him_.

“Well my grandma’s to thank for however I turned out,” he says, allowing himself to smile back at the older man.

Jack laughs fondly, and then his eyes crinkle as he studies Alfredo. Alfredo can only look back at him, but the older man doesn’t seem to find the brief lapse in conversation awkward or unnatural and instead takes the time to really just _look_ at Alfredo.

“What?” Alfredo feels comfortable enough ask. “Why you looking at me like that? I ain’t so good at all these silent conversations you guys have. It’s kinda weird. Usually it’s all I can do to get the kids in my crew to shut up.”

“A lot can be learnt from the way a man holds himself,” Jack says, and Alfredo tilts his head curiously.

The older man laughs gently, cheeks rosy - and Alfredo sees his eyes flicker with something familiar.

_Who do you think I am?_ he thinks.

“I think you’ve been very brave,” the man begins.

“I ain’t brave,” he snaps in response, not meaning to be rude, but he just isn’t.

“From where I’m standing –”

“I appreciate the nice words Mr Jack, but you got me wrong. I ain’t brave or honorable, I’m here cause I’m not good enough to do my own dirty work.” All of a sudden he’s breathing too fast and his lower jaw is quivering.

God dammit. It’s been barely ten minutes and he’s already making a fool of himself again.

Jack’s stopped smiling. He studies Alfredo again, eyes narrowed with his own confusion this time - Alfredo’s shuffling nervously, inspecting the cracks in the flooring, desperately trying to stop his mind going back to _that place_. It’s getting harder and harder, to keep his composure steady and the bad memories at bay, to remain a picture of someone in control who knew what they were doing. Because the truth is that he’s slowly breaking down on the inside, and he’s never felt more out of his depth.

“I’m very sorry that we couldn’t just help you without getting you involved in our shit. We’ll make it up to you somehow,” Jack says sorrowfully.

“ _What?”_ Alfredo responds in surprise to the apology.

“Like I said, you’re obviously a good kid, that should’ve been enough. We look after good people, that’s who we are, why we’re together, why we’re so close…” Jack replies quietly, and gives him a long, careful glance before turning his head to look out of the window and onto the city below.

A door shuts somewhere in the apartment, Alfredo’s reminded what he was supposed to be doing.

“I gotta make a call,” he declares, and pulls out his phone ready. “My grandma’ll be worrying.”

“Sounds like a strong woman. Am I right?” Jack asks wryly.

Alfredo nods. “The strongest. She’s been keeping the crew off my back. Covering for… y’know, what happened. I just want to let her know I’m safe and it’ll be over soon.” He looks at Jack, watches the steam that rises from his coffee and swirls to settle as condensation on the window. “It will be over soon, right? Whatever’s going on, you’re gonna deal with it, right? That’s what you guys do, right? And then my grandma won’t have to lie no more… Jack?”

Jack just smiles.

“It’ll be okay,” he reassures.

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve watched all the stuff you guys have done over the years. You’re always unstoppable in the end and you make it look easy,” Alfredo begins, but stops when Jack smiles again, wistfully, and shakes is head. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling, Sir.”

“Jack,” the man tells him again, not unkindly, and they pause, staring at each other. Alfredo’s heart is pounding, the look in Jack’s eyes is so intense. He licks his lips nervously and opens his mouth to apologize again.

“I wish we were the people you thought we were,” Jack speaks before him however. “I wish we could just click our fingers and make all the bad stuff go away but… but the truth is we’re all just as human as you are. And this is scary, and has the potential to go badly wrong and for the people we love to get hurt. And I wish there was a way for me to take the boys, Ryan and Geoff to some place far away where they’ll never be hurt, and I…”

He takes in a deep breath, and lets it go - eyes close for a second before he’s putting the reassuring smile back on his face for Alfredo. “Now that’s what you call rambling,” he adds bashfully, and nods to Alfredo, eyes as kind as ever. “It’ll be okay, though. I don’t want you worrying, alright? It’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Alfredo practically whispers back, waiting a moment more, watching as Jack turns his head away, before he turns and leaves the room.

He knows when he’s being lied to.

He also knows when he’s being lied to because the other person thought they were protecting him.

He didn’t know that any member of The Fakes would be like that, like Jack.

Or Michael, or Gavin, or Geoff, or Jeremy, or even Ryan.

No, Alfredo was beginning to learn that despite feeling like he’d grown up watching his city’s most notorious crew, viewing them as heroes, idols, fantasy characters almost; meeting them now, _talking_ to them, _listening_ to them… hell, he didn’t think he’d ever met people more human.

* * *

 

Alfredo isn’t stupid. He knows what’s going on here.

He doesn’t need to be a criminal mastermind to know that the guys are planning an offensive attack tonight. Jacobson’s Sawmill, that was where they’d be heading. That was the location Alfredo had recognized in his brief glimpse of the photos - he and Denny used to play up in those woods all the time. And if they wanted to catch the enemy in the middle of an operation they’d have to act tonight - lack of intel or not. This was the first time they would be one step ahead, at least that would be the plan. Alfredo’s certain they would never normally be heading into a dangerous situation so underprepared. 

Whatever their exact plan of action is, they don’t want Alfredo involved. Geoff called them all into the kitchen about an hour ago, leaving Alfredo in the living room with the TV volume turned all the way up like he has vague memories of his grandma and father doing whenever they argued.

Alfredo thought he’d be okay with it.

But somehow it doesn’t feel right. It’s _stupid,_ what he’s thinking, and it’s all very new, for him to be thinking like this - he knows he’s probably not thinking right, that he’s just got so caught up with these guys and their fight and seen a side of them he never imagined he would. That he would have laughed with Gavin and Michael. That he would have spoken to Jack like the man had known him for years, the man being more honest with his feelings than almost all of Alfredo’s family members. That he would have listened to Ryan be so open and scared not about himself but about those around him.

And he knows it makes no sense. He knows it’s probably just some childish part of his mind being dumb. He’s not naive enough to think he could actually truly help them.

But he’s also never wanted to help a group of people more in his life.

He loves his own crew, because he has to, he owed them that love - but it almost came as a given. He was born into a family where that love and trust had been built up over generations. He didn’t ask why and honestly he never really did anything in particular to earn it himself. He just did his job and did as he was told.

He used to think that was enough for him.

But.

The Fakes weren’t like that. They’d come from different walks of life and were all completely different people who weren’t bound together by family loyalty or the simple matter of which neighborhood you grew up in.

“ _Fuck!_ I don’t know, Ryan.”

The strained yell is heard even over the blare of the TV. Alfredo’s creeping up to the doorway as Ryan marches out of the room followed by a weary looking Jeremy. His face is bright red, and his eyes involuntarily flick towards Alfredo standing there, darkening, before he jerks and stalks off.

Alfredo stares at the two go for a long moment, unease lacing his expression.

“I’m sorry about all this, kiddo,” a voice says finally, more calmly than Alfredo would expect. He glances left to see Geoff. The man looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.

“It’s alright, Sir, I understand,” Alfredo says quietly, and Geoff smiles. He rubs a fist over reddened blue eyes. He lifts the hat off his head and runs a hand through messed dark hair.

“I’ve been an asshole,” Geoff replies. “I promised I would help you and all I’ve done is get you involved in our shit without even thinking about your own problems.” His gaze trailed across Alfredo’s face, and his eyes warm and soften slightly - his hand reaching out with something, Alfredo realizes after a moment. Something almost sad in his gaze. Alfredo takes the offered scrap paper hesitantly.

“I would like to help you but I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen tonight. I think maybe I held out from giving you this as a way of convincing myself everything will be fine. And that couldn’t be further than fair and so I’m sorry.”

“I don’t uh… what do you mean?” Alfredo says finally, reading over the numbers.

“For whatever reason, if we don’t contact you by tomorrow, give that number a call. It’ll put you in contact with a man called Burnie, he’s one of my closest and oldest friends. He’s the one who’s been keeping us afloat with everything going on. Probably be here with us if he didn’t have young kids to think about. He’ll be able to help you,” Geoff replies.

After a moment, he reaches out and puts a hand on Alfredo’s shoulder. That seems to break the spell; Alfredo looks up wide-eyed, truly hearing what the man was saying to him and what he was implying might happen. Geoff takes a step back then and opens the kitchen door. Alfredo can see the remaining three standing in there, quietly, not even bothering to hide their uncertainty.

“I can have Michael and Gavin take you home if you want?” Geoff asks, looking back over at him.

“I’m fine,” Alfredo replies, and swallows so hard his throat feels tight. “If it’s alright I’m gonna give my grandma this number.”

He looks down quickly when Geoff gives him a searching glance. “Sure, that’s okay. Not good with talking on the phone are you?” the man somewhat teases.

Alfredo takes a deep breath, and finds the courage to meet Geoff’s gaze. “I need to make sure she has it in case I don’t come back.”

He walks into the kitchen so quickly that Geoff doesn’t have time to react. His bravado falters once he stands inside and all eyes are on him. His heart’s pounding; he stands in front of them with his muscles clenched nervously.

Fuck. He could be about to make the biggest idiot out of himself. He can tell they’re interested though - waiting to see what he has to say.

It would be so easy to walk out right now and go home where he could simply call a number and have his problems solved for him…

But that was the thing. It was no longer so easy to walk away.

“I wanna come with you guys. I - I’m _coming_ with you guys.” He doesn’t mean to stutter so much, but the reaction is instantaneous.

“No. Absolutely not.” Michael says, looking positively outraged by the idea.

“It’s too dangerous,” Gavin agrees.

“You’ve done enough for us, kid,” Jack says quietly, somehow still smiling kindly, even now.

Alfredo sighs in frustration. It’s what he’d been expecting. He turns to Geoff expecting to find the same rejection but pauses when he sees the expression on the man’s face. It’s… empathetic.

Geoff doesn’t tell him ‘no’ outright or say it’s too dangerous. Instead he asks, “How will you coming help us then?”

A glimmer of hope flickers in Alfredo’s chest, although that could just be his heart thudding harder than ever, but he lifts his chin high. This was the easiest question he’d been asked in a while. “I’ve been in there, me and my friends used to go in there and play all the time. I know the layout, I can help and I - I’m a good fighter, Sir, honestly. I’m good a shooting, I’m good long range too although if I’m totally honest I’ve only ever shot rabbits and birds with a rifle but you wouldn’t have to worry or nothin’, I can pull the trigger when I really have to. I have before and I would do it again, for you I mean, I –”

He’s thankfully halted by Geoff placing a hand on his shoulder again. “What about your grandma?”

Alfredo bites his lip, but continues meeting Geoff’s gaze. “She’ll be worried about me… but she’ll also say that we help those who’ve been good to us. And you have been good, I don’t care what you think,” he says, directing it at Jack. “She’d never expect anything less.”

It’s quiet after he’s finished. Unnervingly so.

But he forces himself to wait.

In the end, fate plays a hand in things, the way it always seems to have so far. Gavin receives a message on his phone - his mouth practically dropping open as he looks at the contents.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, he shows the photos to the group but to Alfredo most of all. “This wouldn’t happen to be your Russian guy, would it?” he asks, showing him the first photo.

Alfredo stares. And then his jaw clenches as the unpleasant taste of bile rises in his throat. “That’s him. That’s the guy who killed my brother.” He looks to Gavin. “What is this?”

Gavin stared at his phone hard for a moment. “Trevor’s still be following Stanley around, seeing if he spoke to anyone else of interest. He says your Russian dude and Stanley met for about ten minutes just a moment ago, looks like cash was exchanged.”

“That’s not all,” Geoff adds. “Tell me kid, how much do you know of these Russian assholes?”

Alfredo shrugs. “Not much. They’re new. I’d heard rumors and whispers about a new crew but never saw them until they found me.”

“They’re not street criminals,” Michael says.

“What?”

“These are very dangerous men. We lost good people a few years ago to this man, seems he’s back for round two,” Jack murmurs, the look of disgust seeming unnatural on his face now.

“Who are they?” Alfredo asks.

“They’re thugs alright,” Geoff replies. “But not the kind who should be messing with crews like yours. These men are ex-KGB and if they’re involved in all this then this is even more fucked than we thought.”

“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have seen it coming,” Jack says.

“I didn’t see any of this fucking coming…” Geoff pauses and looks to each of them in turn, his mind working. “Okay, Gav, call Trev off the tail, tell him to head back, we need guys to stay at base but to be ready and to… just be there to pick up any pieces. Jack try and contact our friends in the West. I don’t expect them to get guys here tonight but the least we can do is warn them. If things go south they might be next to be hit. Michael, go and find Battle Buddies, make sure Ryan’s calmed the fuck down, explain to them the situation, we –”

“Why did they do it?”

His instructions are cut short by Alfredo’s question, something angry burning in the younger man’s eyes.

“If they’re so fucking important, why did they kill my brother? Why did he have to die?” he snarls.

It’s silent.

Eventually, Michael clears his throat, doing his best to keep his voice calm. “Because that’s what these guys do. They take what they want, kill who they want. Sometimes for money, sometimes for power. Sometimes… sometimes because they can, because they’re bored.”

Alfredo’s whole body goes rigid with fury.

His brother was killed because some guys were fucking bored?

He’s shaking so hard but he still manages to fix his eyes on Geoff long enough for the man to know - they could tell him ‘no’ all they wanted, Alfredo was going to be there for blood one way or another.

* * *

 

It’s getting dark, the woods have an almost otherworldly feel about them at this hour, a kind of peace that is ruined by the vast array of weapons surrounding him. Alfredo’s amazed by it all - even if this was apparently ‘all they could get their hands on’.

They hadn’t even tried to argue with him after the most recent reveal, knowing fully well that they could little to stop him. He suspects, keeping him close was better for everyone involved, it would do no good him getting in the way of them or vice versa.

The sawmill, long abandoned and fallen into disarray, is a couple hundred feet through the dense woods. They’ve stationed up here because they have no idea how much security this place will have, although they can only assume it’s going to be a _fuck ton_. Providing they haven’t changed the actual structure of the building since Alfredo used to play in there he should be able to take them to a relatively safe entrance - a small hole in the tall chainlink fence, one he and Denny would use to make a quick escape if on the off chance some bigger boys would come looking for trouble.

“Can’t pick up anything,” Gavin is returning - there’s frustration, for a moment, desperation. “Could be they have a jammer or they’ve got a secure frequency that I can’t break through without the right equipment.” His golden sunglasses have been replaced by a similar color pair of night vision goggles, the only pair they had with them. That was the main problem - they were so under-equipped - only had what they already had on them, didn’t want to risk making any contact with their main base no matter how secure it might be - wanted to protect those who Geoff had ordered to hole up there for the time being. They didn’t want to do anything stupid and let the pressure get to them.

Time was running out though. This would be the best chance they had.

“Could you see anybody?” Geoff asks.

“Well there’s definitely something going down. Could hear vehicles - got as close as I dared, did a half perimeter sweep, not close enough to spot this hole of yours but it’s pretty fucking overgrown so we’ll be relying on you to show us the way. As far as bodies, I counted about twenty-five, but that was only from what I could outside,” Gavin reports - he’s braced for action, bulletproof vest over all-black clothing, a pistol and a rifle on his person.

They head off through the tall trees as fast as they can without tripping over logs of walking into low hanging branches. Alfredo had been given a choice of weapons - the only thing they didn’t seem to be too short on thanks to Ryan.

Wow. _Wow_.

That had been his first thought upon seeing the collection of guns in the back of Jeremy’s van. He remembers feeling their eyes on him as he’d searched through everything, unable to hide his excitement. Hey, just because he didn’t enjoy killing people, didn’t mean he didn’t love guns.

An assault rifle and a silencer. And then a simple 9mm pistol.

They’re weapons he’s familiar and competent with although from the look Ryan gave him you would have thought he’d picked up a rocket launcher, which honestly would have been ideal really. Whatever, there’s too much at stake to get caught up in Ryan’s opinion of him.

_Survive_.

That’s what they have to do, it’s what Alfredo really hopes he can fucking do. He remembers the tone of his grandma’s voice, when she’d realized what he was going to do - and he’s never heard her sound more upset but proud at the same time. He has to do this, take out the people who took his brother away and threatened his crew - and to hopefully prevent greater violence between the two gangs, if all went to plan. Yeah, if Alfredo cuts off the head of the snake now - none of the others would ever have to know. Denny was killed by a rival crew. That crew was taken out by The Fakes. They didn’t have to get involved in anything. The kids that made up their ranks would get to live a couple more years.

They stop at the top of the ridge. Gavin and Geoff are in front. The leader, just a silhouette now, turns and beckons Alfredo forward. Alfredo creeps forward, keeping low, and lays down next to the man, silently pointing out the section of fencing he knew the gap to be.

They’re about to make the move. But then. And hand. Ryan’s. He and Jeremy are grabbing them by the shoulders, gesturing quickly to a building in the sawmill.

A man has just taken a stand on the roof. He’s far away but illuminated by the bright light behind him - and he is the worst possible news. For there’s a gun in his hands, one that he’s pointing in their direction. They freeze and watch him, deciding wordlessly that he can’t actually see them, at least not yet. But if they make the dash to the fence…

“Fuck,” Geoff hisses as they scramble back down the ridge out of the man’s line of sight.

The others are silent, and after a moment Ryan grunts, “I’ll try and get the jump on him.” The man is making his way back up only to be halted by Jeremy practically jumping on him.

“The fuck are you doing? He’ll see you coming from a fucking mile away! Assholes are clearly more paranoid than we were counting on.” There’s a desperation to his voice and his grip on Ryan doesn’t loosen.

Geoff lets out a slow breath, glancing around the group.

“Ryan? Gav?” he asks, although there isn’t really any hope in his voice.

“I’ll be more likely to alert him than hit him,” the Brit replies morosely.

Ryan shakes his head too. “Not from this distance. I’m sorry. Not without a scope.” Alfredo hears how disgusted the man sounds with himself, like he’s to blame for everything.

“No, no,” Geoff must hear it too. “It’s my fault. This is on me.”

“The loud way it is then…”

They’re arguing, they can’t come to a unanimous decision, Geoff seems torn.

Alfredo’s quiet. He creeps up the hill slightly, peeking his head over the top. The guy’s about 150ft away - his rifle would be able to handle that range, it was just a fucker of a shot to make in these conditions.

Ryan and Gavin don’t want to risk it. He understands, it could alert everyone and they can’t risk all channeling through the same small gap if they’re going in loud. That’s why the main entrance is on the cards now. But…

_Risk it._

His hands shake a little as he grips the rifle tightly, edging that little bit further away from the rest of the group.

_If it goes wrong he could be responsible for fucking everyone over. Shit, it most likely will go wrong and then any respect they had for him would go down the drain, if they were still alive._

He leans forward, head low to the ground, watching the figure on the roof intently. The man is still, focused on the bare land ahead of Alfredo. He’s alone, dressed in dark clothing, could be wearing armor. A head shot would be the only safe bet.

He brings the rifle up in front of him, the noise of the others whispering frantically still filling his ears.

_If you just cleared your mind and stopped thinking, just for a split second –_

His fingers find the trigger.

_Fuck it!_

Before he knows it, his shoulders steady and he shoots the man.

It’s the first time he’s ever shot someone with an assault rifle.

First time he’s shot someone who never saw it coming.

It’s easier than expected.

A muffled bang. Recoil that digs his elbows in the ground. And the man falls, wordlessly, head jerking back violently before he disappears behind the small wall that lined the roof.

He’s dead.

The others are beside him instantly, guns at the ready - Ryan looks about ready to blow Alfredo’s own head off but then stops and stares at him, shell shocked, and Geoff leans forward and looks at the spot where the man had previously been. The silence that follows makes Alfredo’s ears ring.

“Holy shit! He bloody got ‘im!” Gavin rejoices in surprise, shaking Alfredo’s shoulders wildly.

“Who taught you how to shoot like that?” Geoff asks, like he can’t believe his eyes.

Alfredo turns to them, grim smile on his face. “My brother,” he replies. And then he’s up over the ridgeway, running now with a clear path into the belly of the beast.

 

* * *

 

_Fuck me. That was lucky._

Those last two guys almost had him pincered, if they’d carried on walking. Fortunately, one was called away last moment, and the single guy had been an easy takedown. His chest is tight. Silently and methodically, that was how they’re working. Splitting up once they got into the sawmill, staying in contact through the comms Gavin had handed to them, keeping out of sight and taking down the guards on the perimeter.

Ryan is headed towards where all the trucks are parked. It’s loud with the noise of people shouting to each other in English and Russian. This definitely is one big operation. Gavin’s making his way onto a higher level, trying to get a good overview of the sight. He’s the only one making a constant chatter in Alfredo’s earpiece; nothing serious, just making ongoing joking remarks as he went about his business. It was almost jovial.

It’s cut short by a sudden crash coming through the comms that has Alfredo wincing and Geoff and Ryan demanding to know what happened.

“Gavin!” Michael cries out, loud enough for Alfredo to hear him over the earpiece.

“Michael,” Geoff calls, panicked, “Michael what’s –"

He doesn’t get any further. There’s the deafening sound of a gun going off. Sounds like a shotgun.

Alfredo knows Michael had been carrying a shotgun.

And then all hell breaks loose.

* * *

 

He’s crouched behind a stack of wooden crates as bullets zip all around him. Gavin and Michael are up high, the latter being the cause for their predicament when he fired off his shotgun to prevent a knife from slicing across Gavin’s throat. Someone managed to creep up on their stealthiest member, proves that not everyone was just a hired thug, although Alfredo’s pretty sure some of them are, but the majority are trained, experienced, ex Russian KGB if he’s going by what the others said. He’s surprised he hasn’t been hit yet.

Ryan and Jeremy are making their way around to the front. A few of the trucks had screeched off when everything had started but the majority remain, and the two were in the process of ripping the tires to shreds, while also fighting off the enemy. “Got a glimpse inside one… packed to fuck with our shit that was taken from Redrow… still doesn’t explain how the fuck they knew about it in the first place.”

Alfredo can’t really keep up with the specifics. The Fakes had their stuff taken from them. These guys had it. That was all he knew. What he was more concerned about right now was not getting his brains blown out.

He spots Jack opposite, looking just as pinned down as he is, if not more. Wood pieces are chipping all around him and he can barely lift his arm long enough to get a couple blind shots in before he’s having to take cover again.

“Coming up behind you, Alfredo.”

Alfredo glances back. Meets Geoff’s eyes; clouded dark grey with adrenaline, and tense. Under the glare of the floodlights he appears even paler than normal.

“How we doing, kid?” he murmurs once he’s beside him.

“Keeping them at bay,” Alfredo coughs as a pile of dust explodes into a cloud nearby. “Been try’na provide cover for Jeremy and Ryan.”

“You’re doing great,” Geoff encourages. “Motherfuckers won’t be taking our shit anywhere now.”

A win then. A success. Now they just had to get out with their lives.

Alfredo wonders what his brother would think if he could see him now. Probably be freaking out, telling him to get out of the way and let him handle it. That’s what he’d always done - looked out for him and tried to protect him til the end.

There’s movement near the back of the main building. Alfredo adjusts his position to try and provide himself more cover. He’s just got to keep an eye on that side to make sure no one catches him unawares. There’s guys - 

Wait.

Alfredo freezes.

Wait.

_I know you._

Alfredo half turns and half falls back in shock, fixated on the figure he’d just seen duck behind a pile of logs, the man’s attention on the opposite roof, where Michael and Gavin were at, and he’s got no idea that Alfredo saw him, blood boiling, mind spinning as his body moved systematically with one goal.

The man had a face Alfredo had burned into his head, belonged the body of a man he hated with every fiber of his being, and a name he would never forget.

Dmitri.

The man who had killed his brother.

The man who supposedly got _bored_ and decided to mess with Alfredo’s little crew just for _fun_.

Alfredo keeps moving without thinking long enough for a rush of wind to hit him in the face as a bullet shoots just in front of him, and he whips down just in time as more ricochet around him, by which time Geoff has taken notice of his distraction, the man firing wildly in the direction of that particular shooter.

Alfredo’s grateful, but he has to keep moving. He has to do this. Now.

“What are you doing?” Geoff yells behind him. No time to answer.

He waits a few seconds, crouched behind the crates, eyes never leaving the spot he’d seen Dmitri duck down at, waits for the tiny break in fire, and then–

Geoff can’t stop him as he breaks cover and runs.

* * *

 

He charges into the man so hard that the force sends them both flying to the ground. At first, Dmitri seems too shocked to even move. The burly Russian man seeming totally disbelieving as to who has just tackled him; Alfredo feels like he’s the last person the man would expect to see at a fight like this, and it gives him the slightest bit of satisfaction.

But not nearly enough.

He reacts too fast, too eager to hurt this man that he doesn’t pay close enough attention. He barely gets one punch in before there’s a sharp white pain in his forearm, and suddenly he’s staring at a knife protruding through his jacket, gone clean all the way. He doesn’t know how Dmitri’s standing over him now, spitting out blood and teeth. He feels dizzy, like everything’s moving too fast.

He waits for it, waits for more pain. But when none comes and Dmitri is still standing there, a sick smile slowly spreading across his ugly face, he struggles to his feet. A mistake. The smaller man instantly knocks him back down again and then stamps on his gut with his dirty boot.

“Fuck you,” he hears himself say.

The man simply laughs. A horrible sound - grating and manic.

He jolts as the man kicks him again and suddenly comes back to himself. He rolls and surges to his feet with another punch that lands his opponent straight in the jaw, reading the other man so that when he swings and steps back with another swing he can shrug his shoulder up and take the punch on it. Alfredo punches four times, three lefts and a right in the face. Dmitri stumbles back, blood rushing from his nose.

He’s not laughing anymore.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” he growls. “But I’m done now. Time for you to join your brother.” He goes to reach for his gun, and he’s quick.

But Alfredo’s quicker. And he’s angry, and he’s hurting, and he wants this more than anything and - and - _just fuck this guy!_

He goes for his closest weapon to hand, which happens to be stuck in his arm - kills to birds with one stone, he guesses.

With a cry of outrage, he pulls the blade from his forearm, feeling that burning pain and using it to fuel his attack.

The knife strikes the other man dead on his right wrist, the gun he had been holding falling back as he cries out and grips at the wound, blood gushing fast from the artery.

“Y…You!” For once it seems Dmitri is out of words. Alfredo watches as he collapses to his knees, panicked and unsure whether to remove the blade or not.

“Should have cut me better,” Alfredo replies, quietly, edging forward.

It’s gone quiet. All the gunshots and shouts that surrounded them were muffled, like a cloud of fog has settled around them, isolating the chaos.

“What are you waiting for then, boy?” The man spits. He’s losing blood fast. If he wanted Alfredo could just leave him here and let the knife do the work, but he needs this. For someone who doesn’t like killing he’s never wanted someone dead more.

“You should have just left us alone. Shouldn’t have come after my brother for no reason. For no good reason,” he repeats, almost to himself. “Why? What did we matter to you?"

The man just grins, teeth colored a sickly red. “You didn’t. That was the whole point.”

Alfredo doesn’t react. He just watches as the man pitifully attempts to stem the bleeding, the red oozing out between his fingers like a waterfall.

He thinks about slicing the man’s throat open. That’s what Denny would have done. Call it poetic justice. It was a horrible death, to literally be choking on your own blood, desperately trying to gasp for air but finding none.

He could do it.

“You’re nothing, _boy_ ,” Dmitri coughs, and glances up at him, eyes staring right through Alfredo’s, nothing but violence filling them. “You are a coward. You’re not like your brother, or your crew. You will never be one of them, no matter what you do.”

As last words go, Alfredo expected something more. But, in a way, they jerk him back to reality, the cascade of noise suddenly rushing back to his ears, reminding him that everything is far from over. 

“No,” Alfredo murmurs, pointing the pistol at the man’s head. And then, again, “I don’t think I will.”

* * *

 

He thought he might feel something, relief, anger, satisfaction. But as he paints the ground red with Dmitri’s blood he is filled with nothing but emptiness, hollow and blank. He might have fallen to his knees in pure emotional exhaustion, but the anguished cry that pierces his ears is enough to draw his attention. It’s Jeremy, and Alfredo’s never heard a man make such a sound.

“Jeremy?! What’s going on?” Geoff asks, terrified when all that follows is more gunfire. Alfredo looks over to see he’s remained in the same position, struggling to hold it now Alfredo’s moved, forehead beginning to shine with sweat.

“Ryan,” Jeremy replies. “He’s hit.” It sounds like it’s bad.

Geoff fires blindly over his cover and desperately tries to get an eye on the other two.

Alfredo searches too, but he’s not got an angle and all he can see are bodies and debris. He hisses as his own wound continues to seep through his jacket, but there’s nothing much he can do about it here. He reaches down and yanks at the dead man’s wrist. At least he gets to keep the knife.

“I need to get him out,” Jeremy says.

There’s some harsh coughing on the comms, followed by a hoarse, “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. You stupid. Fucking. Idiot.” Jeremy sounds like he can’t decide whether to cry of scream.

Geoff goes to make a run to them. There’s a spray of bullets that litter the ground in front of him. He skids to a halt, almost falling, and darts back to cover shouting a stream of curses. Regrouping with still so many enemies around was going to be extremely hard, getting an injured man out virtually impossible.

He’s going to die, Alfredo realizes suddenly. He doesn’t think Jeremy would be willingly leaving a fight if it wasn’t urgent, and the distress in his voice certainly hadn’t been lying. Ryan’s hurt and the guy’s going to do everything in his power to keep him safe. Alfredo hears harsh, ragged breaths, not sure if they’re from Ryan or the others scrambling to get to him. Completely disregarding their own safety or any other objective to get to one of their own.

Suddenly it hits him harder than ever.

The Fakes.

They lie, and steal, and cheat, and kill. They’re not angels or heroes or vigilantes, far from it. And they do it for money, and for the control, and the pure _thrill –_

But they do it for themselves. And they do it for each other.

And they did it for each other out of nothing but… but…

_I guess they fucking love each other._

Alfredo lets out a shaky laugh despite himself. That’s the difference. It was why they were like no other crew the city had ever seen, like any crew _Alfredo’s_ ever seen.

He thought The Fakes would be professional and organized. And they were, kinda. They knew what they were doing. He thought they’d be all serious, hardened veterans. And he supposed they could be, at times. He thought they would be almost inhuman. He thought they were a tier above everyone else. But he was wrong.

There was nothing special about them. They’re normal human people just like Alfredo, the difference is that they’ve found a place in life where they truly thrive and belong. And with people who they _belong_ _with_. And Alfredo thinks, with the short amount of time he’s spent amongst them, that it’s what’s had him the most in awe.

_They belong together_ , he’d already come to the conclusion. Thought it from the start. Thought is ever more when he’d seen Ryan and Jeremy, um… ahem. But maybe until this moment he didn’t quite register just how much. And after all this, and everything he’s _seen_ and _heard_ , he can’t simply stand still while they’re broken apart.

He shuffles back and eyes the main building. It’s where the majority of gunfire is coming from. Ryan and Jeremy are near the front, Geoff’s up there too. Gavin and Michael are by the other building and Jack is presumably where Alfredo had last seen him.

So, Alfredo’s closest. How convenient.

He takes a breath and runs forward, slamming himself against the brick wall. He isn’t shot at, and he suspects that the others are currently drawing all the fire.

He reaches up and pulls himself up onto a box. It wobbles precariously, but after a moment settles enough for him to climb higher and higher. Alfredo can feel his pain in his ribs begin to flare up again, not to mention his arm, and his hands feel raw with calluses that have built up over time from holding knives and guns for so long. But no matter how tired he feels, he knows he has to do this.

He’s at the top now, and it still seems no one has noticed him. There’s an open window just above him and he can definitely hear guys nearby inside. He sits for a second, watching to see if he can see any of the others. From here he can only spot Geoff, still struggling to reach Ryan, his frustration and desperation become more obvious as he makes more careless runs. He has no idea what Alfredo’s about to do.

Beyond the carnage of the sawmill he can see the city. The huge skyscrapers and the minuscule dots that made up the lights and cars from neighborhoods like his own. And further still was the ocean. He didn’t need to be anywhere near it to hear the sound of the waves, or smell the salt.

Home.

Hey, from up here, it didn’t look half bad.

He steels himself, before speaking, “I’m going in. I’ll be able to create a distraction that should buy you some time to get out,” he says abruptly, fearful that the longer he’d stay still the harder it would be to move.

“The fuck you are!” Michael shouts back instantly. “You’ll be outnumbered twelve to one! More!”

“Too late,” Alfredo replies, leaning over to peek through the window. “There’s no time.”

“Kid, I don’t know what you think you’re doing but trust me, it’s not worth it.” That’s Jack. Alfredo almost smiles, as he leaps through the window and crouches down in the dark corner. It’s a tiny room, a cupboard really. But on the other side of the door it sounds like war.

“You’ve helped me. I wouldn’t have been able to get in here if you weren’t with me. I’ve done what I came here to do,” he replies. “Now I’m gonna help you, I mean like properly help you, not just sit in some fancy ass restaurant.”

“It’s suicide,” Geoff informs him. Unlike the others, his voice is deadly calm, a certain tone that sends shivers up Alfredo’s arms.

Alfredo swallows. “So is you trying to get Ryan outta here without getting ripped to shreds.”

“Fine!” Michael yells again. “Fucking stay where you are. I’ll come and help you, just wait, okay?”

“ _No_.” Alfredo insists firmly, surprising himself with how assured he sounds. “Just fucking get outta here, Michael. You all need to go. You gotta be safe together.”

“Alfredo – ahh _SHIT_ , I’m – fuck, I’m okay,” Michael quickly says before the others can fly into too much of a frenzy. “Just got nicked on the arm, it’s nothing."

Alfredo’s eyes have shut.

“You guys have gotta get outta here…” he says quietly. “Just promise me one thing?” he asks. “Take care of my grandma for me.”

He’s met with a barrage of shouts, pleas, and even a few insults from Ryan calling him a “stupid, fucking kid” between his labored breaths.

Alfredo’s lips twitch slightly. He’ll take that as a compliment.

And between it all there is a deeper, more resigned voice. Geoff.

“I promise.” That’s all he says.

That’s all Alfredo needs.

He stands up and braces himself against the wall beside the door, lifting his head up and shutting his eyes again briefly, letting out one shaky breath. He thinks…

He thinks, for the first time - and trust him it was fucking scary and he could barely keep his body from quaking in fear - but for the first time in his life, it felt like he was doing the right thing.

It feels strange. But good, he thinks, everything feels kind of weird right now.

“Oh and Ryan?” he adds, barely paying attention to what anyone else was shouting anymore. He wishes he wasn’t parting on such angry words but can’t blame them. Shit, he always knew when his Grandma shouted her loudest was when she was most worried for him. Ryan grunts, surprisingly listening to him, and Alfredo says his final words before he takes out the earpiece for good. With what he’s about to do he only has one message. He takes another deep breath and continues. “You better not fucking die.”

And with that he raises his foot, and he raises his gun, and he kicks the fucking door down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go!


	5. Chapter 5

It takes him a second to pick out who’s his closest target; he bursts through the door and sees so many armed individuals it renders him still for a second. Only for a second though, he’s jumping into survival mode the second after - shoots the first guy to notice him in the head before he’s even fully turned round. There’s an upturned table to his left, good cover to duck behind as more of the men notice his presence.

_C’mon! You better fucking take down more than one._

He fires blindly. Rapidly shooting over the top of the table - glad that it’s made of thick wood, otherwise it would have shredded to pieces by now.

His heart’s pounding as he takes a chance and peeks his head out ever so slightly to take aim. He sees one is wounded, limping - takes him out quickly - and another one reloading, too slow, the gun drops to the floor and now there’s only one left. He doesn’t even wait for the man’s dying breath, just shoots, makes sure he’s down, and moves to new cover before more arrive, he’s bound to have alerted others close by even with all the racketing gunfire still aimed at the guys–

Suddenly he notices a pain shooting down his leg. A piece of wood from the table thankfully, not a bullet. Still, stings like a bitch as he yanks it out.

He steps forward now, ready to take the offensive even if he’s limping and he’s dripping blood with every step he takes. When he reaches up to wipe the dust of wood chippings from his face he feels the smear of warm blood it leaves behind, the wound from Dmitri’s knife still bleeding, albeit slowly.

Another man charges him from out of nowhere with a fierce yell, weaponless other than a piece of metal piping, and Alfredo braces himself and holds up his better arm to block the initial blow. It sends another white-hot flash of pain through his body but at least it’s better than getting his face smashed in. The combat is too close to give him time to fire his rifle, but he still has Dmitri’s knife - and as the man’s swinging again, and again, Alfredo ducks around him and digs the blade into his back. His grip on the hilt grows slippery with blood, and now both of his arms are in pain, but he uses all his strength to keep the blade firmly in and hold the man still as he yanks the knife up, the cries slowly dying out as he reaches the heart or lung, he doesn’t really care as long as he does serious damage–

The sound of bullets pierce his ears again, and he blocks the oncoming fire with the dead or dying body, and he sees that it’s abundantly clear everyone’s aware of his presence now.

A double set of doors have opened, revealing the main part of the upper floor where the majority of shooting has been coming from. Five - was that how many he’s taken out so far? It hardly seems like it’s been that little, he’s already exhausted, his injuries crying out for attention, and yet as he leaps to plant himself behind the wall he counts twenty, maybe more men in the main room. Breathing heavy, he crouches down as he feels the thuds of the bullets hitting the wall on the other side.

But this is what he wanted, he remembers, this is good, he tells himself. If they’re all focused on him now then that means there’ll be less attention on the others, providing of course, they hadn’t already been killed. No - he can’t think like that, his promise is far from over, he’s got their attention now he has to keep it for as long as possible. Something is riling up inside him, something both angry and scared, something desperate to save the others and desperate to survive himself. Doing both right now seems out of the question. But he can sure as hell try–

He fires off a round into a man approaching the doorway.

Another one into the guy trying to get the cross fire on him from the far corner.

Jumps to his feet and knifes one man who tries to rush him.

He’s running low on ammo, they are too but there’s so fucking many of them.

He spots a good place for cover inside the room and blindly runs for it, diving on the man currently firing at him from there. He presses his hands down on the man’s throat, his vision red and everything burning. For a moment he completely blacks out and the next thing he knows the man his dead with a knife in his neck. He almost throws up straight after, scared suddenly by how easy it’s become to _kill–_

He ends up lingering on it for a split second too long, for the next thing he knows there’s a cry of something in Russian, and then it feels as though a boulder has crashed into his side, knocking him forcefully to the floor.

“Get them!” He can hear yelling, someone American, across the room.

“Is too late! They go already!” a heavy Russian accent shouts back.

Blinking back the black dots in his vision, he tries to scramble to his feet, but some weight is still pushing him down. He stretches an arm out, trying to reach for his gun or the knife still in the man’s neck, but he can’t lift his head and he can’t see anything but clouds of dust and people’s feet running past. A foot stamps down on his hand, almost hard enough to break the bone, and he lets out a cry, feeling all the fight finally leave his body. He feels the weight on top of him shift and then the sound of a blade being pulled out of flesh right by his ear, warm blood splattering over him and onto his face, in his eyes, on his lips. He can taste it, hot and coppery and horribly too familiar.

“Don’t kill him!” That same American accent demands - and he feels the weight slowly leave him, although by now he’s too exhausted to even try to stand up.

Also, there’s no point. He knows he would only be pushed back down if he does and he’s content to not do anything for just a second or two, feeling strangely happy despite everything. _They’re gone…_ That’s what he heard. They got out. Michael and Gavin, and Jack and Geoff, and Jeremy and oh-he-better-still-be-alive Ryan. That’s what he wanted, and somehow he’d made it happen.

He tilts his head and glances up, see’s a man so huge his breathing halts for a second. There's a burn scar across his face, and the man’s eyes are dark and he’s sweating and bleeding just like Alfredo is; but unlike Alfredo, he isn’t lying small and broken on the floor.

“This motherfucker–” the man begins, angrily, before cutting off abruptly as though silently ordered to, and letting out a half growl. “What would you have us do with him?”

_How about we just shake hands and call it quits?_

“Seeing as you and your men have spectacularly failed to guard what we worked hard to take from The Fakes, we’re going to steal something back. See if this doesn’t open up some new avenues for us.”

The voice, the American one, sounds so incredibly relaxed and business-like after everything that just happened, that it sends Alfredo’s mind into a spin. He doesn’t like the sound of any of that. But then he also doesn’t like the sound of dying right now.

_Fuck me,_ he feels his heart pounding harder, _what the fuck are they going to do to me?_ He’s struggling to stay in control now, scared and helpless and so very alone. He selfishly wishes one of The Fakes were there with him, somebody he could look to for reassurance during a situation he would never, ever have imagined himself being in when he was little and playing at being a legendary gangster.

In a way, it’s kind of a blessing they knock him out there and then.

* * *

 

 

_“You did good today, lil’ man.”_

_Denny’s helping him take his shoes off at the doorway to their house. Alfredo frowns - wasn’t he just somewhere else? Somewhere scary? A building filled with big, bad people, and his whole body had been hurting. He looks down at his arms and legs. They’re fine, they ache a bit but that’s because of what Denny had been saying. He had done good today!_

_All thoughts of the bad place vanish as he tugs at his older brother’s arm eagerly. “I wanna come with you,” he claims - grinning as his brother grabs his hand and leads him inside._

_“You can’t. You gotta look after grandma,” Denny explains patiently. Their grandma’s not home yet, she’s still at work - been taking extra shifts on ever since their dad had died three months ago. Alfredo still gets sad a lot - actually confused more than anything, wondering how someone who you saw every day of your life could suddenly not be there anymore. Denny didn’t get sad though and he always told Alfredo not to cry ‘cause that’s not what Dad would want’, and he’s started skipping classes to work for their crew more, even takes Alfredo with him at the weekends. Alfredo always wants to join him, even on school days, but Denny says he can’t because he’s five, not nine like his brother. Apparently nine was when you became a man - it also meant that you could start being a lookout during nights apparently, because that was what Denny had started doing too. Alfredo tried convincing his brother every night to let him come with him, and every night he said no._

_“Grandma’ll be okay,” he tells his brother. “I can help you more than Grandma! I could do the looking out thingy too, real good. I’m small. I could hide. That’d be good cause no one would never see me and then I’d be really quiet!”_

_“You’re too little to help. It’s very hard work.” Denny says, sitting down on the couch and pulling him onto his lap, and Alfredo tilts his head back at him._

_“I can do anything!” he replies brightly. “I’m strong like you!”_

_“Really?” His brother’s face can’t help but crack a tired grin, and Alfredo clambers off his lap. He goes to the kitchen, grabs a chair, and brings it back to Denny. It’s twice as big as he is but he manages to keep it off the ground and even lifts it above his head._

_“Please let me come with you! I’ll help, see? I’m strong!”_

_“Fredo…” Denny’s half laughing, half shaking his head._

_“I wanna come!”_

_“Put the chair down - just… put it down before you drop it on your head,” he says, and Alfredo lowers it to the ground, arms only shaking slightly. His brother holds out his arms and he climbs onto him again, head tucked under his brother’s chin. Denny wraps him in a hug and buries his head in his hair, then his tone changes._

_“We can’t always be together,” he informs him._

_Alfredo doesn’t understand - sure, his mom had gone not long after he’d been born, and now his dad too, but they were adults, and they were confusing at times. But he and Denny, they were brothers, and brothers always stuck together. They ate together, they played together, and now they worked together. He leans back and studies his brother’s face, eyes the same as his, skin the same shade, a gold chain he’d inherited from their father, the older boy looking strangely adult-like all of a sudden._

_“But who’ll play games with me at night?” he asks, and his brother lets out a chuckle._

_“You don’t need me to play anymore,” he replies. “You’ve got new friends, remember?”_

_“I do?”_

_“Sure you do! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten them already!”_

_“Umm, I don’t remember,” he begins, but cuts off in surprise as he spots the tears forming in his brother’s eyes._

_“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I’m not there, but you’ll be okay, okay? You’re strong, remember? You’re strong and you’re brave and you ain’t so little no more.”_

_“I don’t understand–” Alfredo breaks off and his brother shushes him._

_“You just gotta hang on. They’ll come for you.”_

_“Denny, you’re scaring me…”_

_But it was like his brother was no longer listening to him - like there was a barrier suddenly between them._

_“Be brave… they’ll come for you. The Fakes don’t give up that easily.”_

_Wait._

_The Fakes?_

_“What do you–_

* * *

 

Consciousness comes back slowly and rather painfully.

He lets out a whimper at the dull throbbing that seems to make up his entire body and wonders what on earth he did last night to make him feel like this.

He cracks open an eye, confusion settling in as he observes the metal walls and blue light. Was he in a cell? Has he been captured?

Ah, that’s right.

He’s not alone, he realizes, there’s someone in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall. Watching him.

Slowly, the shrouded figure makes it’s way forward, every step purposeful and precise, like a big cat stalking its prey. Only when he’s standing directly next to him does the light highlight the figure enough for Alfredo to get a good look.

It’s a man.

A man wearing a shirt and tie…?

He’s late forties maybe, dark grey eyes narrow and piercing, greying hair combed neatly back.

The man studies him for what feels like forever, before slowly raising his hand, holding a small thin object between his fingers.

It’s a syringe, some weirdly green liquid filling it, and Alfredo instinctively lurches away as he lowers it to his arm, only to find out that he’s not moving anywhere, his legs and arms tightly bound to the table beneath him.

The man expertly finds a vein and injects whatever the fuck it is into his bloodstream. Alfredo expects pain, maybe to be knocked out again, but nothing happens, at least not instantly.

The man seems to soak up the slight confusion Alfredo’s projecting. “Human minds are weak,” he explains. “They break too easily and cannot sustain heavy damage.”

A smirk forms on his lips. “How quickly will you break, I wonder?” He draws his finger across Alfredo’s right arm. “Seems like someone has already started on you, Dmitri I assume, always had such fondness for the blade. I bet it hurts.”

“Should see him now,” Alfredo retorts hotly, surprised by how dry his throat feels. Fear, no doubt he’s scared about his situation, and tired, and dazed, and his arm stings like a bitch and his head is pounding, but he also couldn’t care less. So this is probably the Bossman it seems, the one who started all this, and the one whose schemes he and The Fakes had fucked up. Hell, at least he’ll get the satisfaction of knowing he’d accomplished something before this guy undoubtedly had his way with him.

“I did see him as a matter of fact,” the man murmurs. “You made quite a mess of his face. I suppose, though, bullets tend to do that to one's appearance. In the end, you made his suffering very brief, didn’t you? Do you think that’s what’ll happen here?”

Alfredo feels his toes curl up at the threat but he scowls back all the same. “I don’t care. There’s nothing that you can do to me now that’ll help you. Face it, you lost.”

The man smiles at him. “Dear boy, this game that you say I’ve lost, why, you do not even know what we’ve been playing. You must be new. Or were you hired just for this job?”

Alfredo’s eyes widen at the reveal. So this guy thought he was one of The Fakes, or was someone they were paying to help them. He isn’t sure if him thinking that was a good or bad thing, but he presses his lips firmly together and turns his head away to make sure he doesn’t unwillingly give anything away by his expression. Whatever this guy wanted to know, whether Alfredo knew the answer or not; he wouldn’t speak another word. He wouldn’t betray his friends.

“I fear I’ve been ever so rude,” the man says after a pause. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Edgar.”

Alfredo doesn’t reply, but tries to remember if that name should mean anything to him. He comes up blank.

“Human minds are weak,” the man called Edgar reiterates. “Far weaker than the human body. You can put a human body through a lot more than a human mind before it finally gives out. And with that running through your veins, you will even more susceptible to breaking than most.”

If Alfredo had a bad feeling before, now it was rapidly descending into gut-wrenching.

“You see what I injected you with increases the response of your body’s nerve endings,” Edgar continues. “A little something I had specially made, all the way from Colombia. So you see, the body is much more aware of all sensations. If you’ll allow me to demonstrate…” He reaches forward and carefully picks up Alfredo’s right hand as far as it would go in his restraints.

He offers Alfredo another sickeningly polite smile. And then he bent his thumb backward.

What normally might have been a painful twinge, as the digit is moved in a way it isn’t meant to, is blinding pain and he screams in both surprise and agony even as the rational part of his mind pleads for him to realize that he isn’t actually hurt.

Edgar releases his hand and drops it back on the table with a thud that sends a white-hot pain up his entire arm.

“You have two options. One: tell me everything you know about the Fakes and I’ll let you go. Or two: don’t, and we’ll see how long you last,” he says. “Pain or no pain? Which shall you choose?”

He does not seem to expect an answer but Alfredo’s silence is one enough.

“I will keep this simple for you,” he says. “You answer my questions truthfully and you may have a sip of water. You deny me anything, and I can assure you, it will not be pleasant.”

Alfredo see’s Edgar’s face light up in a creepy grin, and he feels shivers down his spine. Even that small motion seems more intense than usual.

_There is no way this can end well._

_There’s no way out. You know there isn’t._

_At least not with this asshole still in the room. Maybe you can wait._

_That’s it, maybe you can hold out until he leaves. Don’t give him what he wants and he’ll give you a break eventually. Don’t be stupid, don’t say anything, you think you can do that no matter what he does? Sure as hell hope so._

_Right now you feel false confidence. But he’s already given you a little taste and that was enough. But the others, you can’t let the others down. Not after everything._

_They’ll come for you._

A good plan - but in reality is it really one that he can pull off? Someone who just a few weeks ago had barely stepped a foot out of his own few blocks, just a corner kid who spent his days evading the cops and dealing with other small crews. Now that’s all changed, now he feels like he’s someone different, like he could never go back to that way of living again. He doesn’t know if that’s scary.

What is scary, though, is the look on Edgar’s face as he pulls up a chair and sits beside him.

“Right then,” he says quietly. “I think it’s time we began, don’t you think?”

Alfredo glares defiantly, and sees the man smile again. He managed a small one himself - a small one, something close to mocking.

“Excellent!” Edgar declares, and picks up Alfredo’s wrist. His hand is very cold, and the touch makes his throat tighten uncomfortably. He focuses on keeping his breathing as steady as possible, and tries to ignore the way his heart lurches at the dangerous glint in the other man’s eyes. “Let’s start off easy then, how long have you worked for The Fakes?”

Worked for The Fakes? Just who did this guy think he was?

It isn’t a question he could answer properly even if he wanted to, but he keeps quiet all the same. If this Edgar realizes he’s a nobody he might be done with him even quicker than originally planned.

His captor observes him for a few long moments. Eventually, he rolls his eyes. “Perhaps a broader question to start things off,” he says. “Provide me information on everything you know about The Fakes. But I’m warning you,” he adds, “this is your last chance.” And squeezes Alfredo’s wrist a little bit tighter.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. This guy isn’t actually going to physically hurt him. It’s all going to be in his head. He just has to breathe.

He doesn’t see it with his eyes squeezed closed, but he feels the hand grip even tighter again and he braces for the oncoming pain.

And well, at least he isn’t disappointed. His thumb is bent back again but he may as well have broken it, burned it, and injected it with a volt of electricity all at the same time. His screams echo in the otherwise quiet cell, that dissolve into quiet gasps for air as he works to get his breathing back under control. But once he’s somewhat calm again, Edgar repeats his words. “Tell me everything you know about The Fakes. About Ramsey. About Free. That new little driver they’ve got themselves. Everything.”

“No.” Alfredo tells him out-loud this time, although he keeps his eyes averted and refuses to look at the man, like when he and Denny were little and he’d had a nightmare. His brother would always tell him to close his eyes, hide under the covers. _If you couldn’t see the monsters then they can’t see you._

His index finger is twisted this time. He bites down hard on his tongue to keep himself from screaming so instead gets a mouthful of blood and an insane stabbing pain of his own doing, as what should have been a brief stab of pain feels like he’s just chopped his own tongue off.

Edgar actually chuckles at that. Of course he does, Alfredo thinks. This guy is a sick bastard. It only serves to make him even more determined to not say a word.

Things repeat for a while then, as each moment of silence or rebuttal earns him agonizing pain for a few seconds and Edgar would repeat his query with the same cadence as before. Alfredo supposes he ought to be grateful he isn’t actually hurting him, because _that_ _would_ hurt much, much more. He can only hope it continues that way.

His body feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder, even though logically he knows it’s practically the same as it had been when Edgar started this whole thing. He's begun counting each torture to try and give him a better timeline. He thinks they were on about the twenty-fifth ask now and Edgar generally allows him nearly a whole minute to recover.

Which means it hasn’t even been going on for an hour?  _Fuck me…_

Despite the pain though, Alfredo’s still thinking clearly. He supposes that was part of Edgar’s plan, as he’s seeking information. But it was backfiring on him because Alfredo’s able to continue to remind himself that all of this doesn’t matter. They’re superficial wounds, therefore, he can continue to hold out and protect his friends.

The only thing that really hurts is his throat again as he's screamed it raw and every gasping breath only hurt it more. But otherwise he’s fine. Really. This isn’t so bad. He can keep this up for a while still. Maybe he’s more of a badass than he thought. Perhaps some of The Fakes has rubbed off on him over the past few days.

Eventually, Edgar’s going to have to take a break himself, right? So Alfredo should get a break then too.

As if summoned, he hears the door open and footsteps move towards them. Well, that’s quicker than expected but he’ll take it!

That’s until he makes out the face of the man who’s entered the room. It was the one with the burn scar who’d finally knocked him out back at the sawmill. He’d seemed very pissed back then. And he doesn’t exactly look any happier now.

“The men are asking for you,” the Russian says, large arms crossed over an equally large chest as his intense gaze moves between Edgar and Alfredo.

Alfredo glares at him and subtly flips him off with his untouched left hand, although the man likely neither see’s nor cares as he and Edgar seem to be sharing a look. It makes Alfredo feel better though. He’ll take his small victories where he can right now.

“Very well, I will address them,” Edgar says after a few moments, releasing Alfredo’s abused hand. 

Alfredo struggles to hide his relief. _Finally!_

"Continue for me, Arkady." _What? No!_

“Permission to give him my own treatment.”

“Superficial wounds have been causing him great pain, but so far to no avail. If you wish, you may increase the intensity, but only minimally. I want him lucid enough to answer questions.”

The Russian smiles, showing nearly a full set of gold teeth. “I understand.”

Edgar sweeps from the room without a sound, leaving the remaining two to stare at one another. Alfredo’s mind is racing as he tries to figure out what increasing the intensity would involve. He bets The Fakes would know instantly and they’d be able to mentally prepare somewhat. All he has is a sinking feeling he doesn’t want to proceed to any higher level in this screwed up torture.

Arkady picks up the same hand that Edgar’s been toying with. Although where his hand was just about Alfredo’s size, this man's dwarfed it. However…

Alfredo lets out a small, uncontrolled laugh that had the Russian’s face going from anger to confusion. "Your… your shirt…" Alfredo manages, trying to pull his hand away with zero success as a giggle works its way out. “It’s got bird shit on it.”

For the most brief of moments, the Russian looks like he doesn’t know how to reply to him, just stares down at the mark on his shirt with surprise, but it does not take long for him to compose himself and his face moves back to a dark countenance within seconds. "Do you know who I am?" he asks, grip tightening on Alfredo’s hand in a painful manner.

Alfredo loses the grin at the renewed pain and presses his lips together firmly. He isn’t going to be answering any questions, unless this man reveals he’s secretly working with The Fakes and he’s here to get him out. That would be pretty awesome. _Please let him say that_ , Alfredo silently pleads.

"I am Arkady, my brother and I were born killers" he continues as Alfredo winces at the continued pressure that’s rapidly beginning to approach an all too familiar and painful threshold. "And now, I am the only one who remains. My brother, Dmitri, was killed by some pathetic _boy_.”

And that prayer just took a suicide jump out the window. Alfredo gives a small whimper as his hand is practically crushed now to the point where black dots appear in his vision. Arkady’s unnerving gaze bores into his, who for the first time since he's been injected with the whatever the fuck that stuff had been, feels actual fear rather than just pain.

Part of him feels sad for the man. He knew what it was like to lose family, and he supposes the two were close. But there’s no real sympathy there, it was this man’s brother who had actively been trying to cause havoc for his crew and who murdered his own brother. And he really doesn’t think saying "sorry" is going to cut it. Not when he’s the one who had literally pulled the trigger.

"I will show you what real pain feels like," Arkady promises. "Now suffer.”

He doesn’t even ask a question. He just takes Alfredo’s index finger between his hands and bends it. But unlike Edgar, he doesn’t stop as the knuckle contracts back. And Alfredo can only seize with horror as his bone is snapped in two.

He realizes he must have blacked out as he comes to, his injured limb still throbbing and showing no signs of stopping. He happens to meet Arkady’s eyes and blanches at the look of absolute fury that fills them.

Arkady snarls back and grips his thumb. And just like before he does not ask a question or demand an answer. But he does break the digit.

Somehow this time Alfredo remains conscious, even as he prays to black out - because his entire body’s on fire and his hand is screaming at him and he realizes somewhere that hands can’t scream so that must actually be coming out of his mouth. His back arches off the table as far as it can go, which only chokes him from the binds over his throat and turns the scream into a terrible sounding cough as he gags for air.

He couldn't believe he was even thinking this, but where was Edgar? _He needs to come back now!_ Seconds pass and he lies twitching and gasping on the table, his hand still encased in Arkady’s and the pressure alone on his broken fingers making him want to throw up. Tears leak down his face, blurring his vision, but he can still make out the fury etched on the other’s face.

"You are weak," the man spat. "I cannot believe this is a member of The Fakes.”

_You’d be right._

But somehow Alfredo’s mouth moves without his consent as years and years of sarcastic comebacks between rival crews decide now is a good time to say something to show that he hasn’t given in. Not yet. "S-strong enough to… to beat y-your brother," he gasps out.

If Arkady had been projecting fury before, it moves beyond that. With a roar of primal rage, he yanks Alfredo’s arm up, choking him as his entire body jerks against the restraints.

"W-wait," Alfredo stutters as he realizes what’s going to happen. “D—"

The ‘don't' dies on his lips as the man twists his wrist until the bones inside crack into two and blinding white agony overtakes him.

The last clear thought he has as comforting blackness takes him away is that he’s going to die here. Right now. And despite his earlier conviction to do what it takes to protect his friends even if it meant taking himself out of the equation, he finds he doesn’t want to die. He wants to live. His mind and body scream at him to survive no matter what.

And that terrifies him.

* * *

 

When Edgar returns he is none too happy with Arkady’s handiwork, because apparently he ‘wasn’t ready to move onto such measures’ yet.

Alfredo’s barely awake when they’re arguing. The pain - if having his finger simply bent backward was horrific, having an actual bone snapped was indescribable - he’d kind of half passed out after the first break. He doesn’t know the exact damage. He just knows he’s even more injured than he was before but his mind’s so fuzzy he can’t even remember what injuries he’d already sustained anyway. He’s scared that what Edgar said will come true - that his mind was weak, that it would break - and he’d give up something he shouldn’t. Though he’s still amazed Edgar hasn’t realized just how useless he actually is, that he’s no member of The Fakes, just someone who got caught up in all this shit a week ago.

Edgar steps forward and eyes Alfredo’s face. He’s sent Arkady on his way. The entire room seems to grow in size without the hulk of a man inhabiting it anymore but it doesn’t make him feel any deal safer.

The man inspects his messed up hand with more annoyance than concern. Like a man who’s come back to find his car with slightly scratched paintwork. To Alfredo, it feels like his whole hands on fire, no one pain discernible from the rest, and his whole body in general feels bruised and tired, turning stiff and sore. It kinda hurts to breathe in too deeply. In hindsight, he probably should have focused more on shooting rather than hand-to-hand combat during the sawmill fight. He wasn’t the best when it came to brawling and his ribs hadn’t been quite a hundred percent yet, but _god damn_ the adrenaline he’d felt at the time had pushed him through it. No adrenaline was coursing through his veins now though, only something far deadlier.

Edgar takes a step back again and sighs. He’s still got the look of a businessman; all groomed, still wearing a crisp button-up shirt and tie. Alfredo wonders who he is - who _he_ _was_ to The Fakes - someone from their past with a hefty grudge.

“Well it seems we’re going to have to continue with Arkady’s methods,” the man says finally, when Alfredo takes in a breath and ends up coughing painfully instead.

“I still won’t tell you anything,” Alfredo replies. “I’ll never betray them.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure you’ve got all these images of heroism floating around in your head, mark my words, that won’t last long, especially now,” Edgar almost says with a hint of regret, and Alfredo’s eyes narrow.

“You almost sound upset,” he mentions as so.

“Oh, I am,” Edgar replies sincerely. He turns away, and _oh God_ , please don’t let that be what he thinks it is. His body jerks in reflex to seeing the syringe being prepped once more - bile rising in his throat, and eyes widening, unable to look away as Edgar returns to his side. “I do so love to get to know my subject a little better before their minds are too far gone.”

“I don’t need any more,” Alfredo rushes, panicked. “First dose is working just fine, case you hadn’t noticed.”

“No,” is Edgar’s eloquent response to that. “You see, dear boy, it simply doesn’t work that way. My work is precise, methodical - I start by merely picking at the surface, gently prodding to see what’s underneath the skin. I would have done so more if that Russian oaf hadn’t disobeyed my orders so hot-headedly. The only way from here is further down, I’m afraid.”

For a moment, Alfredo thinks he might pass out there and then. But his brain’s still in overdrive desperately trying to think of a way out of this situation.

“You need me alive, right?” he replies, trying to keep the shake from his voice. “How do you know giving me too much of that shit won’t kill me?”

“A valid point,” Edgar chuckles, and holds up the syringe for Alfredo to see better, who physically recoils back into the table at the sight. “But one I’d already considered, see? Half full, this has been proven a safe dosage in the past, you’ll be fine… well, you know what I mean.”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Alfredo retorts immediately. “You’re like messed in the head or something. Like you keep saying all this shit about how human minds are weak, think that’s just cause yours fucked off a while back,” he adds, glaring with every ounce of anger and contempt he held for this man, who merely raises an amused eyebrow. Apparently it’s possible for him to look even creepier. Alfredo thinks a smile on this man’s face is ten times scarier than the anger on Arkady’s.

“Well, we’ll see who’s the more sane one at the end of this session,” he tells Alfredo. “We will be continuing as before - a question and an acceptable answer will grant you a moment's rest, an unacceptable answer or silence will result in a punishment. Rather more severe this time, like I said, can’t be going back on the work that’s already been done.”

“Fuck you,” Alfredo cries, because there’s nothing left to say. “Just fucking do it already! Get it over with!”

Edgar nods politely. And he injects more of the poison into his arm.

“Tell me,” he begins, “who are the current main members of The Fakes? I know Geoff is still in charge, and little Gavin is bound to still be there too, but who else?”

“Yeah,” Alfredo replies. “Scooby doo too, they’ve turned their hands to mystery solving in recent years.”

Edgar grabs his broken hand, his fingers putting pressure on bones that Alfredo swears he can hear screaming, makes him grit his teeth so hard it feels they might crack too.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Edgar says, and reaches out and cups his hand over Alfredo’s kneecap instead. “I’d forgotten that one had already been dealt with.” And with that he pushed down with both hands onto the joint, as hard as if he were performing CPR, expression not changing as he watches Alfredo as there’s a horrible popping sound; uncaring about putting on a cool front, Alfredo lets out a scream of pain that sounds more animal than human, and Edgar steps back and folds his arms while he studies his prisoner writhing in his binds.

“Sixty seconds and then we’ll try again,” Edgar says patiently, and he emphasizes the point by tapping his watch face.

“Fu… fuck you,” Alfredo murmurs, in between harsh breaths, half blind from the tears in his eyes. He doesn’t know what state his knee is in, whether it’s actually dislocated or not, might as well have had a hammer taken to it with the amount it hurt according to his brain.

“Such foul language, youth of today. Blame the parents though, I say.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d make a great father,” Alfredo retorts, even though it’s getting harder to breath let alone speak by the second. A sudden wave of terror rushes over him - the thought that this psycho may very well have children; his dad hadn’t been the best father and most of his friends parents growing up hadn’t been role model parents - and nearly all of them had been kids themselves when they’d been raising them and he knew he kinda lucked out getting brought up mainly by his grandmother who had another twenty years experience over most of the other parents, someone who’d already been there, done that. But, however young and immature the parents of his generation may have been, they still had one thing Edgar was clearly lacking, an actual sense of care, an idea that there was value in another human’s life.

Alfredo doesn’t think this man could care less if he killed a human or a fly, everything was just seen as a plaything for his sick little games. His vision swims, and he has to shut his eyes, to block out everything for a moment even though in the darkness it feels as if he’s suffocating, sinking into an abyss with no way out.

Perhaps he did actually black out for a second. The sharp prick in his arm, a pain he wasn’t even _ready_ for, brings his awareness back to him, has his eyes snapping open in time to see Edgar - tucking away a small, sharp needle - like a workman with his tools always at the ready for every scenario.

He stiffens up as Edgar reaches a hand out again, this time placing it on his shoulder. Just the simple touch sends sparks of terror down his spine, a reflex reaction now. He’s trying his best not to cry, can’t bare to break down any more the necessary in front of this asshole, and he wants to stay _optimistic_. To believe that no matter how shit things may seem now, that there was still a hope that he could get out of here, that someone might come for him. Michael hadn’t _wanted_ to leave him. None of them had, he thinks. They’d just been in an impossible situation.

He had to believe that they wouldn’t just forget about him.

Taking in a deep breath, he sets his mouth firm as he looks up to Edgar with an expression of determination on his face. He forces himself to appear defiant, even if he’s actually exhausted.

“Go on then,” he says. “What’s your next question?”

His bravado doesn’t seem to surprise the man, but strangely, a look of uncertainty has suddenly crossed his face. “Why you?” he asks softly. “Why you? The Fakes, they cherry pick their guys so why, of all the people in this god damned city, why would they have some kid like you working for them? What makes you so special?”

“I dunno, cause I ain’t special. Far from it,” Alfredo replies, and Edgar scowls.

“You’re lying,” he replies, but doesn’t stop watching as Alfredo cracks his first small smile in a while.

“But I know something,” he says, biting back a groan as the grip on his shoulder tightens. “I do know they trust me, that they… that they put their trust in me,” he continues, grin widening as he feels the truth in his own words. “So you’ve got another thing coming if you _ever_ think I’d betray that trust.”

His answer actually renders the other man silent for a moment. There was a brief flash of anger, even if he’d never admit it. But then the eyes and face relax again, and he settles his grip on Alfredo’s shoulder firmly. “No. That’s not it.”

“It the truth!” Alfredo argues. It was! That one actually was!

Edgar’s having none of it. And this time instead of forcing the joint in the wrong direction he pulls out a pocket knife, and cuts with precision a moderately deep line across the top of his arm. “Liar. I cannot abide liars,” he hisses in Alfredo’s ear.

The questions seem to come quicker and quicker after that… a certain frustration added to them too. Something he’d said had rubbed Edgar up the wrong way, in that he was no longer bothering with the facade of being some polite, respectable gentleman. Now he was just a torturer, plain and simple.

Alfredo refuses to speak anymore, not only because it ended up badly the last time but also because he’s worried what he might say if he does start talking. He knows he doesn’t want to give Edgar any information. That the man’s still barking up the wrong tree if he believes Alfredo can truly be of any valuable use to him, but still wanting to make sure he gives him nothing all the same. Just in case. But each answered question leaves him in more pain than the last one - how many had it been now? Was he even paying attention to them anymore? What if he’s said something without even realizing it? He’s seen the dumb stuff people say when they get high or drunk. He wondered if the same counted when you were in so much pain you could barely think.

How much more? How much more of this could he take?

_Please,_ he thinks, and finally gives up on trying to keep the tears in, not caring if Edgar saw him cry now. He body needs to use every outlet available to it in order to express the pain it was in. The cuts feel even worse than the broken bones, like he can feel the metal blade sliding through and ripping up the flesh, and Edgar latches onto that, keeps on using it.

Now he’s so out of it his own screams sound foreign. His body’s still reacting as violently as before to the pain being inflicted on him… but his mind’s another story, it’s locked itself away, putting up the barricades to shelter from the hurricane that raged outside. He knows he won’t be able to keep it up for long, that eventually that hurricane would break through and be left to wreak havoc, but he’ll take the respite while he can, and in a really fucked up way he’s glad of it. At least with his mind closed off from the current reality he doesn’t have to worry about letting slip something about The Fakes - the pain is all there is now, nothing else, there’s nothing else in his world other than pain.

And then eventually, thankfully, everything goes dark.

* * *

 

_You’re gonna die here_ is the thought that runs through his head constantly now.

It sounded fucking morbid, didn’t it? But it wasn’t him being hysterical or pessimistic, it was simply a fact he’d come to accept.

He’s gonna die here, either from one of Edgar’s torture sessions or simply from starvation and dehydration. Whichever comes first, at least he’ll know he kept his promise and didn’t break despite all of the bullshit about how his mind was weak and fragile. Maybe he was the exception but as far as Alfredo’s confused, his body was weak and broken, but his mind? His mind was pissed off. Pissed off and smug at the realization that he was actually starting to get to Edgar. That his consistent silence was not something the man had expected to be kept up for so long.

It’s his… fourth day here, he thinks. And he’s still able to drift to the back of his subconscious while he’s being broken and cut. Still able to separate that part of his mind, the part that is the most vulnerable.

It won’t last.

Each time; every new bruise or wound he gains, he can feel it slipping, and he knows it won’t be long before he’s too far gone, but he’ll just have to last - would rather die than go insane.

But yeah. He might be feeling proud of himself for having held out for such a time, doesn’t mean everything sucks any less. He wants his grandma, misses her, worries that she’s worrying about him. Wonders what’s happening with The Fakes, if they’ve been in contact with her, if Ryan was okay.

It feels weird that up until two weeks ago he was no more than a drug dealer, a corner kid making his money by selling to the down and outs of their neighborhood - no worries at all, not really, nothing more than any other guy his age living the life he had been. Nothing at all like the past week, certainly. And to think, he muses - it all would never have happened if he’d simply let that burning continue burning and carried on his way. He didn’t know what would have happened, but not this, he would never have gotten involved with his childhood heroes.

You’d think that maybe he’d regret ever stepping a foot into the lives of The Fakes, but if he was truly honest with himself, he didn’t regret it one bit. Sure, he wishes the tale could have had a happier ending, but who knows, he might have been long dead already, killed in some pointless squabble between his crew and Dmitri’s thugs.

He’s happy he’s met The Fakes. That he got to see them for who they are as people, not just the characters he had created inside his head since he was a child; no matter how brief, he was glad he’d made that connection.

But he wishes there could be more time.

I mean, he doesn’t really have any friends, most of the people he spends his days with are teens, and he just doesn’t have anything in common with them. There’s his grandma, but even though he always feels like he can talk to her about anything, it was hard for her to understand what he was going through sometimes.

He’d felt something - with Michael especially, but Gavin too, and Jack. Geoff was also the first person he’d ever met who commanded respect rather than demanding it.

He thinks maybe, if he’d had that little bit more time, he could’ve been good friends with them. Maybe even Ryan.

Edgar enters the room while he’s in the middle of thinking.

There’s no greeting. No mocking remark. It’s simply down to business.

But as always - Alfredo won’t say a word.

* * *

 

 

It’s night when things kick off, or at least that’s what it feels like; truth be told Alfredo has no bearing on what time it is, all he knows is that he’s woken from a fitful slumber by the sounds of multiple shouts and gunshots. If he were a doctor (which, when he’d been four years old, he actually thought he was going to be) he’d say he was most definitely ‘fucked up’.

He can’t remember how long he’s been held captive but it’s been long enough for him to gain a handful of broken bones, even more cuts and lacerations, and too-many-to-count bruises. It’s only in times like now, when the effects of the drug have finally worn off, that he can do a realistic survey of the damages, otherwise beforehand it literally feels like his whole body is being torn to pieces.

He’s beyond confused when all the noise starts up. He’d had no idea how big the building was - only ever known this one room, but from the sounds of it it’s pretty big, the original echoes so quiet that he wonders if he’s imaging them. There’s a fight going on, Alfredo knows. Those were not the sounds of target practice, it was too frantic.

The sounds get louder and closer until eventually the door busts open, spilling bright white light into the room, and Alfredo instinctively flinches away at the silhouette of a figure standing tall in the doorway, too accustomed to associating that image with further pain.

“Oh thank fucking God,” the figure says eventually, and Alfredo’s ears prick up. He’d recognize that accent anywhere. “The fuck did they do to you? Oh, I’m gonna rip their fucking faces off, you can be sure of that.”

“Michael?” Alfredo murmurs, squinting as the figure crouches down beside him and works on cutting his binds. The sounds of gunfire still haven’t died down, but they’re getting less frequent, and this room feels calm all of a sudden. Still, he can’t quite believe his eyes, scared that this might be some new cruel drug Edgar is testing on him. “Is that really you?”

Michael finishes untying him - but Alfredo, having been in the same position for so long, feels unable to move. There’s a hand in his, his good… well, better one, and Michael’s fingers brush lightly against his forehead.

“We have to stop meeting like this, Alfredo,” he jokes, though his voice is tight, and he swallows hard before speaking again. “You able to stand?”

“I - I dunno… I think so.”

“Alright,” Michael reassures him gently. “That’s alright - hey, get in here dickhead, give me a hand!”

“He okay?” a new voice asks, one Alfredo doesn’t recognize.

“No. But he’ll be okay. Won’t you - remember what you told me? You’re a soldier, Alfredo. Come on now, we’re just gonna sit up slowly, that’s good, boy.” He doesn’t break off his comforting chatter as Alfredo sits up; he almost passes out, just that simple movement sending his head spinning and his whole body screaming, but he’s determined and above all he’s relieved. They actually came for him, they actually came to rescue him, and they were doing it and now he was getting out of this hell.

“Who’re you?” he mumbled, looking bleary-eyed at the new person as they maneuvered him to the edge of the table.

“Name’s Trevor,” the man simply replies.

_Trevor._

He’s the guy who’d been following Hanson around, right? Another member of The Fakes then. Huh - pretty cool.

“Oh…” Alfredo blinks, eyelids heavy. “Nice to meet you.”

The man lets out a small chuckle. “Yeah, nice to meet you too.”

“Alright kid, come on, let’s try this,” Michael says, and tries to pull him up under his shoulders. Apparently, Alfredo’s having none of this, as he lets out an unintentional cry that has Michael blabbering out apologies and Trevor hurriedly asking what hurt.

_Everything. Everything fucking hurts_ , he tries to say, but fuck - even talking seems like too much effort now.

“What in God’s name is going on in here?”

_Geoff?_

“We were seeing if he could stand, and well, it didn’t work. He’s in pretty bad shape.”

“I can see that. Why’d you try to make him stand anyway?”

“Well… he said he thought he could and–”

There’s a muffled thud and Michael shuts up. Meanwhile, Alfredo’s struggling to focus his vision as Geoff leans over to look at his face. A warm hand cups his cheek and runs a finger over the bruises Alfredo knows are there. “Sorry, but I can’t see you walking outta here, buddy. Trevor, go and make sure the guys are ready to leave asap. I’ll get Jack in here to patch up what he can and –”

Alfredo slips away while he’s still talking, allowing himself to fall into the darkness, happy and relieved, but most importantly, safe. It’d be okay. They’d come for him. Everything would be alright now.

* * *

 

 

“How bad do you think his grandma is gonna kill us?” Someone is speaking. Alfredo’s face contorts as he tries to concentrate, utterly disoriented for a few moments, trying desperately to remember where’d he’d been before he’d apparently fallen asleep - and what was that about his grandma killing someone?

Everything all comes back rather quickly, and rather painfully. He lets out a pained groan, opening eyes that feel like they’ve been superglued shut. He’s met by two extremely concerned faces peering down at him - ones that only reboot his memory even faster - but their eyes are lighting up at the same time.

“Hey, buddy,” Michael greets, in a whisper - looking as normal and laidback as ever as he grins down at him, perhaps his hair slightly more tousled than before, the bags under his eyes a shade darker. Other than that he looks exactly like Alfredo remembers as he pushes Gavin into view too so the other man can meet his gaze.

“You remember what happened?” Gavin asks first; Alfredo nods but then pauses, not only because the motion makes his head hurt but because he only remembered what happened up to a point. “You’ve been unconscious since we brought you here, but that’s nothing to worry about. Jon says you just needed your sleep after everything.”

Alfredo stares at him, struggling to process all the words. He’s tired, and he still feels like he’s just finished running five marathons, and most of his limbs are tightly constricted by what he assumes are bandages, but he manages a smile anyway. Wants to let them know that other than all that, he’s okay.

“Hey!” Michael exclaims suddenly. “I just realized something! Every time I’ve met you, you’ve been lying on the ground. At least you’re in a bed this time, right? And there’s no big motherfucker squashing you.”

“Hey,” Alfredo says, his cheeks warming - despite everything they’d been through, he’s still easily embarrassed in front of these guys, unable to quite rid himself of the idolising nature he’s carried for so long, that made it seem like he was meeting his heroes every time one of them spoke to him. “You making fun of me?”

Michael reaches out and squeezes his shoulder gently, and gives Alfredo a cheeky grin.

“Well, you have to admit, Alfredo - it was pretty fucking funny.”

“Saved your life asshole,” Alfredo mumbles, blinking heavily.

“Nah, I think I was good.”

Alfredo sighs, supposing it’ll take a while to live that one down. Michael lets go of him and leans back laughing. Gavin rolls his eyes and gives the other man a nudge, reaches out and brushes his fingers through Alfredo’s hair.

“Leave it off Michael, he’s still half out of it,” he says softly - eyes gentle as he gives Alfredo a once over.

Michael takes a deep breath, gathering himself. He winks at Alfredo. “He knows I’m only kidding,” adding, “How you feeling? You in pain at all?”

“No,” Alfredo begins, “nothing bad anyway. Jus’ tired.” He shuts his eyes, and finds he’s unable to open them again.

“Alright, tired’s good… we’ll stop bothering ya,” Michael replies hesitantly, like he’s unsure about leaving.

Alfredo doesn’t really care what they do. He just wants to go to sleep.

“C’mon, Michael, he’ll be fine.”

There’s silence, and then a stiff, “I know.”

“Then let him rest,” Gavin coaxes.

Another moments silence, and then a sigh. Alfredo feels a hand card through his hair in his half-awake state.

“Get better soon kid, I’ll see ya on the other side.”

“Mm not a kid,” he manages to mumble, and that brings out a laugh from Michael.

“I don’t care. You’ve only just entered the hazing faze.”

They leave then, and he’s quick to drift off - just one thought in his mind.

_What did that mean?_

* * *

 

The next time Alfredo wakes up properly he’s greeted by someone he would never in a million years have expected to be keeping watch by his bed.

Ryan’s looked better - in his very short time of knowing him this is definitely the worst Alfredo has seen him - physically-wise. His surprise must be evident on his face because Ryan’s first reaction is to smirk as he hobbles closer to the bed. He’s alive!

Somehow that feels like Alfredo’s greatest accomplishment. This man, Ryan, he was the whole reason Alfredo had gone and played the hero, because Ryan had gone and got himself shot. But who cares about the past, Ryan’s alive, he’s alive, they’re all good.

Ryan stands there for a few moments, shuffling awkwardly on his crutches, unsure what to say. When he’s finally had enough of being silent he settles for sighing instead and clicking his tongue in a way that makes Alfredo feel like he’s about to be told off by a teacher.

“You,” Ryan eventually says, and something passes across his face, something a mix of annoyed and confused and _relieved._ He stares down hard at Alfredo. “You - do you have any idea how stupid you are?”

“I’m uh… I’m sorry, I – ”

“Now I’m gonna owe you for the rest of my life,” Ryan bursts out. Once it’s out, the rest seems to follow more naturally. “You’re gonna need to get yourself kidnapped again or something - just so I can rescue you by myself!”

“Umm…” Alfredo says, confused, and Ryan begins hobbling back and forth in a kind of awkward pacing march.

“Also, you forced us to call in Fakehaus to help even though I still hadn’t forgiven James after he scratched up my bike last time!”

“I don’t –” 

“You don’t think! Cause you’re stupid and young and… stupid… and I am very not happy with you.”

Alfredo bites back his grin. Suddenly, Ryan doesn’t seem so scary.

“Okay, I get it. I’m stupid,” he admits, smirking a little.

“Yes,” Ryan says.

“And I didn’t think before I acted.”

“Yes.”

“And I saved your life.”

“Ye –” The word cuts out short, and Ryan finally stops his penguin shuffling. “Yes, you did,” he says quietly, eyes softening.

Their eyes meet. And Alfredo doesn’t need to be a mind reader to see the gratitude expressed in the blue orbs - an emotion Ryan might not be able to express in words easily, but showing his true feelings nevertheless. It’s Alfredo who breaks the spell first and smiles, Ryan quickly following suit.

“Sorry, I’m… sorry. It’s been a stressful couple of weeks,” he mumbles, wincing as he takes a seat next to the bed.

“How’s your leg?” Alfredo asks, stifling a yawn.

“Annoying. Though, could be worse. Jon says I need to use these bastards for another month,” he scoffs at the crutches, giving them a glare as if they were the things that actually shot him. “He’ll be lucky if I stay in them another week.”

He shakes his head, stretching his arms out. “I shouldn’t be bothering you. Just wanted to say… well, I don’t really know what I wanted to say other than… thanks. Thank you, Alfredo.”

Some part of Alfredo’s mind leaps with excitement. _That’s the first time he’s called you by your name!_ The other part however, was ready for some answers.

“Before you go,” he begins, “can I ask you something?”

Ryan nods. “Go ahead.”

Alfredo swallows, an unpleasant chill settling on him just at the thought of the man, but he pushes through it, determined. “Who’s Edgar?”

The older man freezes up, a huge look of guilt washing over him. Alfredo sees the whites of his knuckles as he tightens his grip on the crutches.

“Edgar,” he says slowly, a dark tension rising in him.

“Edgar,” he repeats. “He used to roll with us back in the day. We worked with him a couple of times anyway, very good at what he did but… well, you’ve seen yourself what sort of man he became - wasn’t as bad back then, but heading in that direction. We tried to make a deal, he didn’t want to hear it. We tried to cut him off, that only pissed him off. We tried so many fucking way to get rid of him and it - it ended badly. We thought he was dead. We saw his car go up in flames and –” He shakes himself, breathing slowly, only looking to Alfredo once most of the tension has been rid of. “Well, it’s a story for another day.”

Alfredo regards the man. He feels a horrible lump form in his throat as the memories resurface, and he hears echoes of his own screams in his ears, but he swallows it back, and instead offers Ryan a small smile.

“Promise?” he says. He has a right to know. No matter how unpleasant, he deserves to know more than anyone about whatever shit went down to make a man like Edgar so hellbent on destroying other human beings lives. 

Ryan studies him carefully. “Promise,” he says eventually, and Alfredo knows he’ll keep it.

Still, he can’t help himself. Must be the meds…

“Pinky promise?” he asks, lifting his little finger as far as it could go, which was barely at all due to that hand being tightly wrapped up.

Ryan’s expression is one of bemusement, but his face relaxes, and he reaches out with an eye roll. “Pinky promise,” he says, linking their fingers together briefly.

He struggles to his feet then. Cheeks slightly reddened, from the heat of the room or from what just passed between them, Alfredo’s unsure -but it suits him, he thinks, a man who wears embarrassment well.

He doesn’t say another word until he’s nearly out the door, and even then it’s a last minute decision, an afterthought. He looks to Alfredo, serious again, and speaks softly. “You don’t need to pretend everything’s okay. You don’t need to be strong or brave or whatever you think you should be.” Something flickers in his blue eyes, something not too far off from sadness. “Believe me I know what scars a man like Edgar can leave behind, so if you ever want to talk…”

He trails off, and they spend a few silent moments just watching each other. After a few more, Alfredo gives a small nod and a smile, grateful for the offer.

Ryan appears relieved, back straightening as he composes himself to look like the man in charge again. “Alright, when you next see me I’ll be free of these monstrosities,” he says, confidently, whacking the wall with one of the crutches, chipping some of the paint off.

The man’s eyes widen a little at the dent in the wall he’s made, and he glances back to make sure no one else saw.

Alfredo smirks, deciding he very much likes this new Ryan he’s slowly getting a glimpse of. “I’ll hold you to that.”

* * *

 

 

It’s not until his eighth day that he’s finally allowed to leave. He’s still got his left hand wrapped up tightly as well as a brace on his knee, coupled with multiple bruises that have yet to fade, and cuts that are still healing hopefully not to scar too bad, but other than that he’s good - wants to just get out of there anyway, there actually being not a hospital but a building near a hospital belonging to the man he’d heard Michael and Gavin fondly refer to as “The Fuck Doctor.”

The man, Jon, seems nice enough to Alfredo, and he’s looked after him well enough, so he isn’t quite sure where that name came from, but he’s also beginning to realize that if you weren’t being insulted by those two, they probably didn’t like you that much.

“ _Idiot_ ,” is one of the first things Gavin says to him, to back that theory up. “When Jon said take things slow I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean almost knock yourself out straight away.”

“It’s not my fault, it’s a stupid place for a shelf,” Alfredo grumbles, batting the other man’s fingers away from his head.

“You’re bleeding,” Michael points out. He reaches out a hand to wipe away the few specks of blood from the reopened wound on his eyebrow. He shakes his head like a disapproving parent - Alfredo suspects it was one of the reasons Michael and his grandma had got on so well.

He takes a step back.

“It’s _fine_. Once we get outside it’ll dry up again, real quick. C’mon don’t make me wait any longer. I ain’t seen outside in forever, I wanna go.”

“Alright, alright, we’re taking you for walkies, calm down.” Gavin ignores the glare Alfredo sends his way, striding off with a small smirk. “Actually, we’re getting straight in a car, but then Geoff… Geoff wanted to see you and walk you the rest of the way home.”

Gavin reaches out a hand and grabs Michael’s.

“Let’s get out of here, boy,” he says, jerking his head for Alfredo to follow them, which doesn’t need repeating, Alfredo’s raring to leave. It’s not a long walk to the exit but he can already feel his knee starting to ache a little when they finally do get outside.

“Feel good?” Michael asks.

“Yeah, real good,” Alfredo replies, tilting his head back to the afternoon sun. “I’ve never wanted to be outside so much in my life.”

“Bet it won’t last long,” Gavin pipes up. “This city is too damn hot. I can’t stand it.”

“You’ve had fifteen years to leave,” Michael retorts, grinning. “If you hate it so much I’m sure we can find you a nice little desk job with air-con to keep you happy. I’m sure Trevor would be more than willing to fill your spot. He’s better looking too. Probably be even better at sweet talking all these assholes - probably get a raise, probably become boss one day–”

Gavin cuts him off by launching an empty water bottle at him. Michael doesn’t blink as it bounces off his forehead with a dull thump and onto the concrete below, rolling a little before coming to a stop at Gavin’s feet.

“Well, that was pathetic,” Michael remarks, and laughs, sauntering over to a nearby black van. “Fredo, you’re riding shotgun. Let the sweating British child sulk in the back.”

“Sounds good,” Alfredo agrees, grinning ruefully at Gavin’s affronted expression. Damn, it feels like he’s known these guys for years.

Being himself around these two just felt easy, natural. Joking about seemed like a second nature. But it was more than just the banter - it’s the sense that they truly do enjoy having him around, that he’s not just some kid they’ve been forced to babysit. Michael especially has always done his utmost to make sure he doesn’t feel like an outsider.

He hops into the passenger seat. Quite literally, he hops in, slightly annoyed that he’s already starting to tire. Jon had warned him that might happen, that he’d need to give himself time to get muscle strength back, and his knee was stuck in a brace for another few weeks.

He understood where Ryan was coming from. At least he didn’t need to carry himself around on crutches that seemed more hindrance than help at times. He hasn’t seen Ryan since that talk they’d had, but the man had sent a message via Michael. ‘Hi.’ That had been it. Apparently, that was rather talkative for the man.

“Okay,” Michael says after they’ve been driving for ten minutes. “Be on the lookout for Geoff. He’ll be wearing a black hat, black shirt, black pants, and black boots. He said he’ll be on this street somewhere and yeah, think he’s just gonna walk you the rest of the way home. Fond of a good old walk and talk, is our Geoff.”

Alfredo watches out of the window - wonders how much he’s gonna hurt by the time he gets home. He’s certain he’ll be able to make the walk but he’d been hoping to show his grandma how completely, one hundred percent fine he was. He’s already got multiple tastes over how overbearing she was going to be during her visits every day. Ah well, she probably would have seen through his guise anyway. No, scratch that, she definitely would’ve.

It’s Gavin who spies Geoff leaning against a brick wall, basically invisible in the shadows, so much so that it takes a moment for Alfredo to find him even after Gavin had called it.

“This is you then,” Michael says, pulling up by the sidewalk. He leans across and hugs Alfredo tightly, who hugs him back, pressing his face into Alfredo’s hair for a second before letting him go.

“I’m gonna miss ya, buddy,” he says. “Text me later tonight, okay?”

“Will do,” Alfredo promises, pulling a face as Gavin reaches forward and ruffles his hair in his own way of saying goodbye.

“Stay out of trouble, Fredy-do,” he tells him, putting on a funny voice.

Alfredo wriggles away from his hand and opens the door. He looks over his shoulder and it hits him then that this might be the last time he’ll be seeing them in a while - if he ever does see them again that is - because they’re not just any guys, they’re gonna be fucking busy, trying to fix whatever destruction Edgar had wrought upon them. Maybe they’d never have the chance to meet up again. Perhaps this was just a thing where they’d drift apart until the past few weeks felt like a distant dream. For now, though, Michael still wants Alfredo to text him, so that’s something. And so, with one last look at the two, he steps out of the car, and does his best to stifle a laugh as Michael drives away, Gavin pulling stupid faces in the window.

He hears a sigh and turns to see Geoff shaking his head. It’s not the first time he’s seen Gavin do that, he surmises.

_Why am I not surprised?_

* * *

 

He walks beside Geoff comfortably, his knee only twinging slightly, letting the older man lead the way both in pace of conversation and walking. The man seems to be taking things extra slowly for his sake - casting concerned gazes his way every so often - keeping the tone light by making joking remarks about what Gavin and Michael had been doing to annoy Ryan while he’s been bed-ridden, making Alfredo chuckle when he admits he was scared of his grandma.

“Here we are,” Geoff says, as they reach Alfredo’s street.

“Here we are,” Alfredo replies, and glances around, wondering how many of the kids hanging around would have actually noticed he’d been gone for nearly three weeks. “Are you uh… are you gonna talk to my grandma?”

Geoff shakes his head, a little hurriedly. He honestly does seem quite flustered by the thought, Alfredo muses. He knows she’s become well-acquainted with Geoff and Michael especially over the past two weeks, mostly her giving them orders, and telling them they needed to stop by the salon she worked at. It’s a strange sight. The leader of the most renowned gang in the city’s history getting nervous about the idea of having to deal with asmall, aging Filipino woman.

A cry of his name as him spinning. There’s a smile on his face as he sees who it is, a familiar face from a life that almost didn’t seem like his anymore, carefree and boyish as ever as he kicks a soccer ball down the opposite side of the street with a few other teens. His lieutenant, Angel, is another reminder that soon things will be going back to normal, that these streets would be his again to watch by tomorrow.

“So… this is your empire.”

“For as long as I’ve known.”

“It’s not as bad as I expected.”

Alfredo laughs.

“Yeah, this if five-star drug dealing right here,” he says, and Geoff also laughs.

“Before I let you go home there was something I need to talk to you about. Something important.” He spots Alfredo’s expression and laughs again. “It’s nothing bad, don’t look so worried.”

Alfredo still feels uncertain. “I promise I won’t say nothing about –”

“I know, I trust you,” Geoff quickly assures him. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about, it was more… it was about what you want to happen now because,” he takes a deep breath in before continuing. “Because what you did? That takes more than just sheer guts. That takes something more. And I don’t wanna hear any of this ‘I’m just a soldier’ bullshit. What you did, for my crew, for my _family._ That took heart. Good, strong heart. And as you know, that’s kinda hard to come by in my line of work.”

“Oh… well, it never felt like a choice to make,” Alfredo says, sincerely, and Geoff’s forehead crinkles in confusion, so he does his best to explain. “What you guys had right there? What you guys have together - what I seen anyway. That was real and honest and good. And like you said yourself, Sir, that shit is hard to come by. So for once in my life I wanted to feel like I contributed to something good and worthwhile, not just because I felt I had to, but because I _wanted_ to. I wanted to help keep you guys together… glad I did. Honest.”

“So you know… about us,” Geoff says, reading between the lines. “How’d you work that one out?”

Alfredo feels his cheeks heat.

“I saw um, Jeremy and Ryan and then… it just made sense more than it seemed crazy,” he stammers. “I don’t mean to be rude or nothing.”

Honestly, until Geoff had actually said it himself, he’d been unsure if he had been crazy. Ryan and Jeremy he knew, but all of them? That had only ever been a gut feeling. Makes him feel even more certain that he did the right thing by sacrificing himself back at the sawmill.

“Well, I shouldn’t be surprised, you’re a smart kid,” Geoff says softly, but Alfredo can see in his face that he is shocked; of all the things The Fakes try to keep private, their relationship must be the number one thing. He’s not sure if this changes anything - feels good to air it out in the open, although he hopes Geoff keeps the part about Alfredo seeing Jeremy and Ryan to himself. Also that he doesn’t ask for any more details because Alfredo knows fully well he overstepped his boundary by listening in on that intimate conversation for far too long.

Geoff looks around resolutely, and Alfredo tries to follow his gaze, turning to see the rundown houses and kids who should be in school rather than hanging about on street corners. He looks until he hears Geoff clear his throat.

“This isn’t where you belong,” Geoff says, both unsure and determined at the same time. He’s reaching into his pocket and pulling out something small and shiny, tossing it to Alfredo who catches it with his good hand. “That’s why the boys and I wanted to give you this.”

“What’s this?” Alfredo asks, staring at his hand, wide-eyed.

“Keys to your car,” Geoff says simply, and Alfredo’s knees almost buckle under the surprise. “We thought you could do with one if you’re gonna be moving on up in the world. Not gonna tell you how to live your life, so if you want, you can use it to get outta here, even if it’s just for a short time. Experience the world beyond these few blocks. Also, of course, it could be useful for your line of work.”

“I don’t need a car for my work…” Alfredo murmurs, unable to stop staring at his hand.

“You honestly thought we’d let one of us go around on some damn push bike?” Geoff says. He watches Alfredo seriously, before the grin pushes itself onto his lips. “Fredo, my boy, welcome to The Fakes… That is, if you want it?”

Alfredo’s speechless.

_He did._ Shit, he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything more in his life.

He wants to say so but his mind and body have completely frozen over. In the end, all he can muster up is a small nod, looking up to Geoff excitedly before a thought crosses his mind that he thinks might be one important detail they hadn’t considered.

“Oh, uh…Sir… Geoff, I uh…” he mumbles. “I can’t drive.” Well, he could drive, kinda. He could probably drive a car down the street if it was required, but it wasn’t like he’d ever taken lessons. The most he’d ever spent in a car was when he was younger and one of his friends would hot-wire an unsuspecting vehicle, taking the group of wild boys for a spin until the cops pulled them over.

But he doesn’t think he’ll be safe to drive a new car without doing damage to something or _someone_.

Geoff doesn’t react in any negative way, just smiles fondly, like he half expected it.

“Do you want to learn?” he asks, and Alfredo looks up eagerly.

“Yeah, I do.”

Geoff nods, rubbing his hands together. “Jeremy can see to that, and hey, you’ll already be one up on Gavin.”

He isn’t quite sure what that means, but there’ll be time to learn. Time to learn more about these guys, to truly know who these incredible, kind-hearted, selfless men were.

He just wishes Denny could be here to see this, but he knows, wherever his brother his, that he’s proud. _You better not fucking waste this opportunity,_ that’s what he would tell him. _Oh and give me a proper fucking funeral too now everyone knows I’m dead. I want this shit to be dope, gotta have a ton of flowers, damn good tunes, and plenty of pretty girls crying._ Alfredo knows exactly what his brother would want.

After a moment, Geoff reaches out and rests a hand lightly on Alfredo’s shoulder; Alfredo looks up at him, regarding a face he has come to trust so much, and who he has so much to be thankful for, and he leans into the touch. Geoff pulls him close then, Alfredo’s head resting on the man’s shoulder. It’s a comfortable touch, doesn’t feel too dissimilar to what he and Denny used to have together, and Alfredo closes his eyes, Geoff’s warm weight against him reassuring him that everything was going to be okay.

Maybe he did still have that little bit of hero worship still installed in him, it didn’t matter.

When Geoff releases him eventually, there’s a different feeling around the two. And it’s one that makes Alfredo feel he’s healing twice as fast and the sun feels twice as warm on his skin, and he can’t help the massive grin he sends Geoff’s way, one which is returned, sharing a mutual thought in silence. Neither of them can deny it.

_This is gonna be a wild ride._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! What was originally going to be a one shot turned into something so much bigger and more complex than I originally thought, but I'm overjoyed with the response and comments so thank you everybody very very much!!!
> 
> Still gonna be working on Youngsters but I've also got a new FAHC fic coming up that I've already started, so anyone who's interested keep an eye out for that :D
> 
> Once again thank you to everybody who's enjoyed reading this fic as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Love y'all!!!


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